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“Pleased to meet you, hope you guess my name.”
The Rolling Stones sang that back in the seventies, and I guess that’s how it’s going to have to be with me. You see, the purpose of this column is to give a true reflection of one guy’s university experience, missed deadlines, awkward silences, caffeine fuelled all-nighters and drunk lectures: warts and all basically. Giving away who I am would probably compromise some of the many half-truths and downright lies I lazily use to make my student life easier (you do it too, don’t judge me yet).
Although I prefer to stay anonymous, I will tell you the following: at mid to late twenties I am technically an (im)mature student about to start my second year of an arts-based course. This was doubtful at one point, since UCE and I had a difference of opinion about how many essays I should have handed in: they wanted (quite unreasonably) more than none. At the end of the first year I was diagnosed as dyslexic, which was admittedly a huge relief; I had always thought that I was run of the mill thick, instead of the special kind where you get a free computer and extra time in your exams. I haven’t actually got the computer yet because, ironically, the amount of paperwork you need to fill in is, like most dyslexics, beyond me.
So in short, I am a dyslexic, borderline alcoholic, cynical, sometimes angry, drug-addled, agnostic, insomniac, struggling student with a writing habit.
Another thing I hope to be doing is dispensing valuable nuggets of information, because someone’s got to learn from my mistakes even if I don’t. So here goes: once you get your sweaty, excited hands on your NUS card and register it etc, find a ‘Scream’ pub. They’ll be the tastefully decorated yellow and black buildings; just follow the trail of ‘Aftershock’ flavoured sick. Now get yourself a yellow card. This card entitles you to cheap drinks and food. Then go to a different ‘Scream’ pub and get another one, because you will inevitably lose the first when you give it to someone to get a round in who already lost theirs and are too drunk to give it back. Then get a couple more to “lend” to your non-student friends who deservedly feel they shouldn’t have to pay full price for booze while we lazy students fritter away our time.
You see, valuable nuggets.
Now if you’re a fresher reading this, it probably means that a large portion of you have picked up this magazine in the dining hall and are pretending to read it because you’re too shy to talk to someone new. I know this from personal experience, and when countless articles bang on about “everyone being in the same boat” they are right. If this applies to you, do yourself a favour: stop reading this right now. Go to someone you recognise from your course and say these words (write ‘em on the back of your hand if you have to): “Hi I recognise you, you’re on my course right? Fancy going to the pub?” It’s pretty much that easy.
Or you could go back to pretending to be interested in the magazine and exchanging awkward smiles for a month.
You could even go to a ‘Scream’ pub.
Suggestions for a title-
Confident Exhaustion
Slackers Eye
Chronic Word Monkey
How NOT to be a Student |
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