Editor’s note: This article is a humor column.
Congratulations! Welcome to the University of Virginia. You have survived Move-In Day, walked your classes and successfully pretended you knew exactly where you were going the whole time. However, now comes the real test. Somewhere between Move-In Weekend and your first set of midterms, a path will find you. It always does. Five paths lie ahead, and only one has your name on it. Choose wisely. Or don't.
Path 1: The future Goldman Stanley IB analyst
You arrived on Grounds with a plan. Before your parents even finished unpacking the car, you immediately updated your LinkedIn intro to read — “Pre-Commerce McIntire Student | Aspiring Goldman Stanley IB | UVA ‘30.” You are not entirely sure what IB stands for yet, but you have seen it enough times to know it must be important.
On week one, you make sure to attend every McIntire info session available. You sit in the front row. You take color-coded notes on your iPad. You ask a question that is really more of a statement.
By week two, you have attempted to schedule 11 coffee chats with upperclassmen from 69 Degrees Consulting, Seedling Strategy Group and the U.Va. Investment Fund For People Who Are Very Serious About Finance. After watching "How to Network in College – WORKS EVERY TIME” on YouTube, you feel ready. Each morning, you check to make sure your communal bathroom is completely empty before rehearsing your elevator pitch at least five times in front of the mirror.
Two responses come back. One says, “Great connecting with you, let’s stay in touch!” The second says, “Loved chatting, see you around Grounds!” You do not see them around Grounds.
However, months later, you receive a welcome letter from the University Finance Awareness Society, which you later discover has a 100 percent acceptance rate. You list it on your resume, cover letter and LinkedIn profile anyway.
Path 2: The easy A hunter
You are taking MATH 2310, CS 3130, ECE 2200 and PHYS 3310 this semester. You need a lifeline. You remember a friend of a friend mentioning an easy wellness elective — WELL 2100, “The Art of Performing Wellness.” It counts towards your Living Systems discipline, and the class meets twice a week. The professor, apparently, is very nice. You sign up instantly, disregarding the syllabus.
On day one, the class is smaller than you expected for an easy A and you are surprised to find that it takes place in the Contemplative Commons. You notice the room has a sprung hardwood floor, and there is a mirror on one of the walls. Then you hear there will be no homework or exams. You smile to yourself, proud to have at least one easy class this semester.
Some of your classmates find it strange that every Tuesday your professor makes you lie face-down on the floor for 20 minutes to “connect with the building's foundation.” But you just call it your “glorified nap time.”
Week nine, you see a classmate practicing some sort of dance outside of class. Voluntarily. You think nothing of it.
After spending 11 hours in Shannon studying for your PHYS 3310 final, you decide it is finally time to crack open the wellness course syllabus. There is a final. It is an interpretive, improvised live performance. It counts for 60 percent of your grade.
You pulled off As and Bs in all your other courses, only to receive a C+ in “The Art of Performing Wellness.”
Path 3: “They seemed normal on Instagram”
Your roommate's Instagram was immaculate — great music taste, impeccable sense of style, same humor and similar energy. You guys texted all summer. This year was going to be great.
However, unbeknownst to you your roommate decided, at the precise moment of moving into a 165-square-foot dorm, to become the next Gordon Ramsay. Not casually or as a hobby. No, this was someone who watched every season of “Hell’s Kitchen” and took it personally.
By week two, there is a knife roll on their desk and pans hanging from the shower hook. Your roommate has also begun reviewing the dining hall food on their blog, describing Taco Tuesday as “a disgrace to Mexican cuisine” and the soft serve machine as “a cry for help.”
Week four they attempt a four-course meal on a single hot plate. The fire alarm goes off at 11:45 p.m. on a Monday. Outside stand 69 people stand in pajamas. Your roommate is unfazed. They are plating.
By the year's end, you got the best birthday cake you have ever eaten, and two hot plates have been confiscated. A third has appeared. You ask no questions. Gordon Ramsay could never.
Path 4: Greek is life
You may not have your classes picked out yet, but you know exactly which chapters you'll be rushing for in the spring. You have a spreadsheet. You made it the moment you were accepted to the University. The vision is simple — Oozma Kappa fraternity. Or perhaps Python Nu Kappa sorority. That is it. That is the whole list. Your friends have suggested you keep an open mind. You smiled, nodded and did not update the spreadsheet.
By September, you are fully committed to the cause. You attend every open philanthropy event you can find and spend your free time stalking their Instagram pages. You networked at the “Crunchwraps for Change” philanthropy event held by Roar Omega Roar fraternity and set up two rush dates at their “Kegs for Kindness” get-together.
By fall break, your Vejas, Longchamp bag and cropped jeans have finally been shipped, and you are starting to reach flow state. You have had 17 rush dates so far, have been on every DoorList and made sure to have Corner Juice every Tuesday for impromptu networking opportunities.
You remember formal recruitment is in the spring, which means you have the rest of the semester to pull all-nighters in the library, have the freshman flu for a minimum of two weeks and convince yourself the dining hall food isn't “that bad.” Alas, you spend October shopping for your rush outfits instead.
Path 5: New year, new Grounds, new me
When you walk into the activities fair, you feel something shift inside you. This is it. This is the reinvention. You are no longer the slacker you were in high school. That was child's play. This is college.
You sign up for 17 clubs in 40 minutes. Among them are the Jefferson Literary and Debating Society, Club Tennis, Women in STEM, Hoos for Health and the Korean Student Association. You've never done debate, you've played tennis twice, you're an English major and you are white. But all the tables seemed welcoming, how could you possibly say no?
You also decided this would be the year you had a glow-up and decided to buy an entirely new wardrobe before arriving. Neutral tones. Linen. Scandinavian scarves. Swapped your Stanley for an Owala. You look like a different person. You feel like a different person. It is working.
Weeks go by, and you have now been added to dozens of GroupMe chats, which between them all generate about 250 notifications a day.
By Oct. 3, only one GroupMe chat has remained unmuted. It turns out the Korean Student Association does free food Fridays, and you will not be missing that.
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