In this story I talk from the POV of a nineteen year old female freshman in college and the hell she experiences there...
Here's Chapter 1!
Chapter 1: The First Few Days
I waved goodbye to my mother for one last time as her car pool pulled up and the driver of the car honked the car's horn. "19 and in college," my mother thought. "I raised her well," she also thought whilst sobbing.
I was also sobbing while she pulled away from her home, where she spent the first 19 years of her life.
Coincidentally, today was my nineteenth birthday which made me extra sad. But after a few hours of travelling towards the college she was fine.
They pulled up towards the college which I was flabbergasted by the size.
"Here it is, UCLA", my future roommate said to me "Wow" I thought to myself.
"Come on, let me show you around", Kelly said. "You're so lucky you got here today, you are just in time for freshman orientation.
"Hi, I'm your D.A. or dormitory advisor Molly, your dorm rules are posted up on your dorm door,” she said.
"Oh no, whiny bitch alert", Molly said. "Who is that?” I asked quizzically. "Veronica Wilkerson," Kelly said, "Is the most spoiled whiny, bitch-ass rich brat in this school. She is a member of a sorority made up of all queen bees. Her father actually paid the Board of Admissions to get her big whiny brat ass over here" Kelly went on.
"Hey, I have a plan to bring Veronica's brat pack whimpering down to the hard ground" I started. "We will have to do it on dormitory orientation night which is in... two weeks" I continued.
"The plan is we will start a rival sorority to hers, start a few bitchy catfights, win, and that will bring her college popularity status as a college sorority leader bitch crashing to the ground.” I said cruelly. I slept peacefully until 7:30 AM until my roommate Kelly, blasted me with a dose of an air horn on the day that classes were to begin.
At 8:00 AM on the dot, I arrived at my 1st class of the college year, Geographical History. My teacher was a very prudent man named Mr. Finkelstein. He was black-haired, gravelly voiced, and had a no-nonsense approach in his class.
“ Ms. Pinkston, you’re early, how nice, it’s a pure invigorating refreshment to see a student come in so early… it’s the opposite that I usually get… Late students… 15 minutes late JUST BECAUSE THEY HAVE TO GET THEIR LITTLE FRIENDS AND THEMSELVES A CUP OF COFFEE JUST BECAUSE THEY WANT TO BE “ENERGIZED” FOR MY CLASS… WELL, HERE’S MY ADVICE TO THOSE MISCREANTS, HAVE A HEALTHY BREAKFAST AND GET SOME SLEEP INSTEAD OF BLINDLY CRAMMING FOR AN EXAM WHICH THEY WILL MOST LIKELY FAIL! But… I am sure you, yourself, do that, do you, Ms. Pinkston?” He said, yelled and asked while writing the day’s lesson on his two-way whiteboard, pacing, and looking at me with intent.
“No, sir… I certainly do not do that AT ALL” I said.
“Good” Mr. Finkelstein said…
“Sir, could you please explain what the purpose of this class is as well as everything else, like, the grading structure, how we learn in this class, and other things too, I am afraid I am a bit confused.” I said.
Why certainly, Ms. Pinkston.” Finkelstein said.
“You see I do your grades like this, 10% for the world’s countries’ history papers you will be doing weekly, 20% for your basic run-of-the-mill homework assignments, 30% for tests, and 40% for research papers I will assign twice every quarter of every year, one at the beginning and one at the end” Finkelstein said.
“The purpose of this class is to delve into history by the world’s continents and its countries too” Mr. Finkelstein said.
“Oooooooooooooooohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Thank you” I said.
“Anytime” Mr. Finkelstein said.
The bell rang at 8:30 am.
All the students piled into the class room like a stampede of rhinoceros.
“Today class,” Mr. Finkelstein began, we are going to begin in Eurasia, in Ancient Greece, in the time of gladiators and philosophers,” He finished.
“Oooh, the class cooed.
“Oooh, indeed” Finkelstein coyly replied.
Classes roughly last about forty five minutes to one hour fifteen minutes.
When the bell rang, I sighed with relief because I had not found any morons in my classes. Yet.
My next class was Philosophy.
We basically talked about Aristotle and shit.
We had no homework so far.
My next class is English. Oh joy.
English bores me, A LOT.
My third class is Literary Discussion which also, is now my favorite class because we get to delve into the writer’s mind and we get to debate what the writer was thinking when he or she was thinking when he or she wrote that particular scene as we are reading one of the writer’s books.
My fourth and fifth classes are math and social studies. SNORE.
Then I have lunch at the cafeteria.
I had pizza, French Fries, a salad, and a chocolate mocha chip ice cream sundae. Mmmmmmmmmm, mmmmmmmmm.
My sixth and seventh classes are Science and Gym. SNORE.
My eighth and final class before I pick my afterclass clubs and/or electives is… MUSIC. SNORE.
As much as I would like to hear an off key, out of tune, off beat, and off tempo version of Pachelbel’s Canon In D Minor played by about… seventy five violins, a cello, and a hell of a lot more instruments… I would rather have my ears cut off with a fucking CHAINSAW and go deaf, than hear again what I heard today…
Well on to my electives… I picked Creative Writing, Academic League, Debate and Choir.
Just as I walked in to do my HW and socialize with my dorm mates, I walk in and see that that bitch Veronica has trashed my room…
“Well, Veronica, I guess that this means war…” I thought to myself…
The next four days were filled with the same thing… Geographical History, Philosophy, Lit Diss., Math, Social Studies, Lunch, Science, Gym, Music with that same god awful version of Canon, electives, homework, socialization, TV, and sleep.
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