All we wanted was to get back to our room :(

We’ve all experienced them before, those extremely long and awkward moments during our freshmen year when some person we met at NSOP calls us out by name. Bwog Daily Betsy Ladyzhets is here to talk about such times in our series Awkward First-Year Moments.

You’ve seen that person before.

You have, you’re sure of it. You recognize those eyes, that smile. Their hair is a different color now – you’re pretty sure it was brown before, not blue – but the person is still the same. You think you sat with them at lunch one of the first days you got here – or was it dinner? You don’t remember. NSOP, for you, is one big blur of names, faces, and explanations you immediately forgot. Honestly, you barely even remember the name of your OL leader, let alone the people in your group.

But at least, you think, that person seems to be doing their own thing. They’re sitting at one picnic table, and you’re sitting at a different one. Both of you have better things to do than make awkward small-talk

Oh, no. Shit. Shit. They’re coming over.

“Hey!” they shout. And then, they do the unthinkable – they say your name. They remember your name, and they’re smiling at you, and they want to talk to you.

You wonder if this is what the iceberg felt like right before the Titanic hit it.

“Um, hi,” you say. “How’s … everything?”

“Good, good,” they answer. “Or, well, I mean – I’m pretty sure I’m failing, like, half of my classes, and I never get more than four hours of sleep a night, but, you know, it’s fine. Everything’s fine.” Their smile doesn’t shrink as they talk – instead, it somehow gets even wider.

You look around frantically – surely there must be someone else around for this person to talk to? You can’t be the only one here.

But before someone else can come to your rescue, they go on. “Actually, that’s why I’m so happy to see you – you mentioned that you’re good at calculus, and I’m really having a hard time with it. Could you maybe help me out?”

You mentioned that you’re good at calculus? When? You’re okay at it, but you definitely don’t remember any kind of conversation about it. And you don’t think you’re qualified to tutor anyone in it.

“Um, aren’t there … programs for that kind of thing?” you ask.

The other person shrugs. “Well, yeah, but … I don’t know how they work. Clueless first-year, right? I’d rather get your help.” They take a step closer.

And you – you panic. A quiet, internal panic, but a panic nonetheless.

“I just remembered that there’s a thing I’m late for it started a few minutes ago I hope you get help but I have to go right now immediately!” you shout. You gather up your belongings, stuffing things haphazardly into your backpack, and practically run away from the picnic table.

“Wait!” they call after you. “Don’t leave so fast! We should exchange phone numbers!”

You pretend not to hear them.

You feel a little bit like Jean Valjean right after Fantine accuses him of causing her downfall, but at least you got out. You’d rather clean the showers in your dorm than ask someone’s name after they basically bare their soul to you.