if-you-think-you-embarrassed-yourself-during-your-first-week-of-freshman-year

If you think you embarrassed yourself during your first week of freshman year...

Think your freshman year is off to a terrible start? Think you embarrassed yourself so epically that you should just drop out, move out of the country, change your name, and enter the Witness Protection Program now? I’m here to help.

Picture this. My FIRST week of freshman year. I’m wearing a nice sundress and some cute flats (as if that’s a sensible outfit for an 8am Calculus class...).

I’m running a little late. I’m not a morning person by ANY means, so it was a miracle I was up in time for class at all. I have about 8 minutes to get there (thankfully it’s small campus).

I take one step out of my dorm, on a perfectly FLAT sidewalk, and…..SPLAT. Right. On. My. Face. I’m lying on the ground LIKE A PANCAKE.

I hear a voice behind me yell, “YOUR DRESS! YOUR DRESS!” and I realize that my dress has FLIPPED UP OVER MY BACKPACK AND OVER MY HEAD.

I stand up in a hurry, and suddenly start to notice I can’t move, or feel, my hand. It’s turning purple, and has doubled in width. I have 2 scraped knees, and my other hand is scraped up as well. There is blood.

I now have 5 minutes to get to class.

I get to calculus class JUST IN TIME, sit down, and look at my hand again. It looks like I’m wearing a fluffy pink/purple tie-dye mitten.

My professor takes attendance (wtf, who does that?). I sit in the front row (because of who I am as a person).

When the professor gets to me...she says, “your HAND.” I have NO friends in this class, so I try to laugh it off, but nobody is amused. It’s not my writing hand (“thank you Jesus,” as the Kardashians would say), so I just deal with it.

Calculus class ends. I cannot move my hand. I have 4 hours before my next class. I decide to go to the health services center.

The nurse in the health services center says, “that shit is broken, LOL. We’re getting a DORKY GOLD MINI-VAN to take you to the town’s ER.”

I wait in the ER for about 2 hours before they finally declare that it was only a hairline fracture and a bad sprain. I would be fine, but needed to use heavy-duty bandages (thankfully, not a cast. #ThankYouJesus).

I realize that my Human Behavior class is starting in 30 minutes, and my mini-van-pseudo-ambulance-thing is NOWHERE to be foun. I email my professor APOLOGIZING for being late to class… “sorry, I’m in the ER but I’ll make it as soon as I can!”

I arrive to class about 20 minutes late, and as I walk into this class that I have only been to ONE TIME BEFORE, the professor declares, “she made it!” and THE. ENTIRE. CLASS. CLAPS. FOR. ME.

I almost dropped out. I needed to wear the bandage for the first 2 months of my freshman year of college. Here’s some proof (although I protected my bandaged hand from paparazzi quite well, otherwise):

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I had to MEET MY FRIENDS FOR THE NEXT 4 YEARS…..WITH A BANDAGED HAND.

Fast forward 4 years (because I decided to stick it out).....

And…..

I won Homecoming Queen.

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Your hand can break, you can bleed during class, you can miss class to go to the ER, and you can have half of campus see your underwear….but YOU. WILL. BE. FINE.