You told everyone that you were shocked that you even got into Columbia because you started the application the day before it was due. You didn’t study for any of your AP exams and were actually high when you took the SAT. You regularly check your Instagram unfollower app and like to hang out with boys because they’re less drama. You’re the prospie that thinks they’re cooler than everyone else.
This weekend is Days on Campus and you’re pissed at your mom for making you exchange your ticket to Coachella for a ticket to Morningside Heights. Instead of talking to her in the cab, you record yourself with the crying filter on Snapchat and caption it “hate this bitch (my mom).”
After spending 15 minutes of asking your mom to leave, you finally ditch her in the bookstore. You go register and try to mingle, but realize that you’re already over this event. Everyone is clearly weird and as irrelevant as a spider fart; you have way better things to be doing. You start scrolling though your camera roll to find a cute flashback Friday picture to post before accidentally bumping into your future bff. They too are wearing Stan Smiths (with the stitching), olive green joggers, a cartilage ring, and contoured with Kat Von D’s kit. After introducing yourselves you both are already comfortable enough with each other to say the three magic words: “this shit’s dumb.”
After lunch, you’re required to go to some info session on academics at Columbia, but who really cares about the core? You and Cartilage decide to skip and go to Soho to get more piercings. After one minute of figuring out how to buy a metro card without touching the dirty touch screen, you decide to call an Uber. Cartilage takes the aux cord and starts playing your favorite song—Down in the DM. You record her lip-syncing Nicki Minaj’s verse and put it on your Snapchat story with the MaHatTaN skyscraper filter.
After getting your bellybutton pierced and cleaning out the Supreme store, your phone battery is worn out. Together, you and Cartilage (who is now also Septum) head back to Morningside Heights. On your way to your host’s Carman double, you bump into a cute guy who is clearly a current student. You lie and tell him that you’re a sophomore at NYU vising a friend, but he was so down to show you to the elevators that he probably wouldn’t have cared if you told the truth. He invites you to his room to show you some of his posters, but once you read “Residential Adviser” on his door, you realized that he would probably care. It’s good for you though; authority turns you on.
Later on that night you and Cartilage-now-Septum go to a frat party. You try to mingle with the other prospies, but if anything it helped you decide that Columbia wouldn’t be a good fit. How could you go to a school with people who didn’t know what A$AP Mob was? Your phone buzzes and you are disappointed again when you discover that it wasn’t a text from your latest hookup but instead from your Mom. “Hey honey I hope you’re loving Columbia!” “Why are you so obsessed with me?” you type. You lock your phone and head to the bathroom, but on your way there someone taps your shoulder. “You dropped this,” the person says, and as you turn around you realize you dropped your nametag, and the person handing it to you was… the RA you just hooked up with. You both stare at the nametag, which has become a physical manifestation of the awkward situation before he looks up and says, “well… are you at least 18?”
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