WHEN MY editors asked me to write an advice column, I drew blanks for days. This article comes mostly from that void, which itself emerges from the fact that I have little wisdom to contribute to your success in college.
If you learn nothing else from this column, learn that surviving your first year is an art that no one can teach you to master.
Therefore, you'll probably be fine if you don't read any more of this paper.
But that's beside the point. The point is that I still have 598 words to type. And with those (now) 590 words, I will impart to you coming hordes the only piece of advice I can offer: Get air conditioning.
I say that because when you get to Charlottesville, it will be summer and it will be hot. Those of you from the area probably know this. I did not because I am from Phoenix, and my logic went something like this: I'll be OK, because the surface of Alpha Centauri pales in comparison to an Arizona August furnace blast fresh off the hot truck. I ignored two things: First, the humidity, and second, that I had developed a tacit belief that no organism could live without climate control because in Phoenix, every building is air-conditioned and we avoid open air like anaerobic bacteria.
So when I came to Charlottesville and encountered the reality that I did, indeed, have to deal with all 95 degrees of Mother Nature's brunt, only one thing saved me: The wisdom of my roommate, who had the foresight to arrange for a doctor to conveniently decree an allergy.
The University allows students to bring their air conditioning units and plug them in if they have some respiratory ailments that require them. Remember that asthma you had when you were three? Well, it turns out to be the smile of God Himself.
I'm not exactly familiar with the procedures in place to present the notes you'll procure if you do in fact love yourself, but I'd guess that if you just bring them in and beg, no human being will do you the deep inhumanity of making you inhale vile, vile dander (or the obscure indoor pollutant, cleon. Your "doctor" will know that a/c is the only way to keep you safe).
Once administrators capitulate, you have the luxury of waking up in the morning in something other than a sweat puddle, and you'll discover that your air conditioning unit has deified you into an amorphous entity of sheer awe.
When pushed to the point of desperation, people will do anything to escape the hellfire furnace that is a Charlottesville August. This includes spending time with you.
I'm not saying that you're socially inept, but no one ever quite forgave you for throwing up at that one party, and at this point you should let the happy hum of your air conditioning unit do your talking for you.
People will enter your room and suddenly, any topic of conversation will become fascinating. "Hey, what are you doing?" "Picking the lint from my toenails." "I've always wanted to do that. My name is Candi."
Everyone will remember your temperature forever -- it will become you, and that will become fine by you. Trust me. People will pass you in the halls and say, "Hey, look at that guy! Remember him? He has air conditioning!" and suddenly you'll feel like someone for a second before you wander past the unfamiliar faces, dripping beads of sweat that testify to your utter peachiness.
Perhaps they will even afford you a nickname, like "The Cooling Unit" or "The Big Chill." That attractive one who was in your room will pass you the next March and will say, "Hey, look! It's the Big Chill," to which you will reply, "Yes, I am awesome." They may shorten your new nickname into "Biggie" or "The Unit," and if you're lucky, people will take them to mean something else.
And to think that none of this happened to me. But -- oh, oh -- how I wish it had. And it actually did happen to my roommate -- you know, the smart one. He could not satiate the droves of a/c groupies we came to call the Ice Queens.
In conclusion, I really am a nice person, and I've lost my train of thought. Shucks, look at me, rambling again. It's all because of the cleon -- horrible, obscure cleon.
Michael Slaven is a Cavalier Daily opinion columnist. He can be reached at mslaven@cavalierdaily.com.
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