- You’re walking through the First-Year Quad and hear the shrieks of a student being dragged off by Quadfox. Do you:
- Hit the ground, unmoving. Or was that for bears? You never thought looking like a snacc would be your downfall!
- Pull out your grappling hook, friends cheering you on, and dash over to the rescue. You can grill the meat and keep the pelt for the winter!
- Look away and walk to your pre-medical-lawyers-without-borders-research-honors-a capella meeting. That’s one less competitor you didn’t even have to take care of.
- A gaggle of beleaguered high schoolers and parents are being led around by a backwards-walking student with a nametag.
- Oh great, they’ll know what’s up! You cut off their library diatribe and ask for the best way to get to all of your five classes and sixteen workshops. Wait, is that a stab wound between your ribs?
- Large groups of fellow ambush predators make you uneasy. You deadlift a vending machine and stand as still as possible to avoid a fight.
- Make eye-contact with every single one of them and point to your “4.0 GPA, 0.0 Sleep” shirt. It’s so tiring to always set the curve.
- Your professor, who is notorious for never answering emails, has just sat down in the Starbucks lounge holding a venti Pink Drink with sweet cream cold foam.
- Does that guy look familiar? Maybe he caught you climbing on the roof or something? No time to dwell on it, you’ve got a week-long “We Survived the First Day of Classes” roadtrip to plan.
- Compliment his choice of beverage and offer him a swig of fun juice from your extremely-normal-not-a-flask water bottle. You follow him to office hours, leaving a trail of pit dumplings to find your way back through the tunnels.
- He takes one look at your ferocious grin and pales. Two hours later, you’ve secured yourself a paid research position, three grad school offers, and his firstborn grandchild. Not bad for a Tuesday.
- By some freak ID accident, you gain swipe access to a chem lab in Hutch (the nice one).
- Huh, you bet someone would pay to make meth in here. Off to advertise on CCC!
- This offers you the perfect opportunity to upgrade your mead-brewing to a whole new level of biohazard. You call up your honey supplier and begin plotting the expansion.
- You get straight to work. Cancer’s not going to cure itself, and there’s only so much time before you’re too old to be the youngest-ever Nobel prize winner.
- Halfway through watching your classmates’ Psychology in Visual Media projects, you notice that they all bear a sneaking suspicion to your life.
- You’re disappointed. You’re not always this mundane, right?
- You’re relieved. Sure, they exposed your robinfighting ring, but no one has caught onto the MasterChef: Communal Kitchen edition you’ve been filming around campus and you’re pretty sure that NDA isn’t violated yet.
- You’re smug. You planted the idea to Truman Show you in their minds through a series of mental manipulation and psychological warfare, and the last video to play will be yours, Truman Show-ing all of them. You’re SO getting an A.
Mainly 1s: you are Malaria
Melio–what? Meloria, could it be? Keep up the good work while you can; the innumerable and inexplicable vowels of our motto will find their way into your nightmares soon enough. You could stand to learn more campus lore, but I do admire those who can set boundaries for themselves – and if your limit is extracurricular effort, more power to you.
Mainly 2s: you are Mel Sauce
You would’ve been a hit with the Vikings. Unfortunately, the closest campus offering to ale is Meliora sauce, which you could probably still chug if you wanted to. Next time half our dining options close, you’ll sustain your hall and your roster of lovers with fresh game, foraged tide pods, and stealing from Hillside. If I’m not being too forward… What’s your snap?
Mainly 3s: you are Toxic Meliora
Oh my god, can you just graduate already? The sophomore spring mindset isn’t supposed to be your final form. If you can’t humble yourself, I will personally commit privacy crimes to track you down and do it for you. Every time you’re asked how you’re doing, you reply: “Ever better. ” I can see right through you, and misery sure loves company.