Columnists

Don’t ask me for directions

By Nathan Drinkwater

Posted on Feb. 19, 2001, at 12:00 a.m.

I am a first-year student at UMaine, fresh out of high school and out of the grasp of most authority. I knew before I came that the campus would seem large and I also knew that the campus contained more people than my hometown. With a new, unfamiliar place and new, unfamiliar people, awkwardness is bound to prevail.

The first thing that I noticed being awkward at college was the fact that I didn’t know where anything was. I found myself wandering around the campus lost, feeling like I was in a different country where all the other people knew exactly what was going on and exactly where they were going. When I saw someone with a puzzled look, or looking at a map, I felt like I was seeing one of my own kind. It is pretty discouraging to think I must find my direction in life when I can’t even find my direction on campus.

My solution to feeling and looking like a new-coming dork was simply, no matter how lost I became or how puzzled I was, I would concentrate specifically on pretending that I was cool, in-charge, and definitely not lost. The biggest problem I then encountered were people who would either call my bluff or figure I really did know my way around and ask me for directions. The first time it happened, I panicked. I didn’t know what to say. I had an in-head meeting with my brain.

“Oh man, what am I gonna do, Brain? I can’t let on that I am lost. Admitting it would be worse after pretending I was cool.”

“You could always pretend you have rabies and try to bite them and then streak across campus growling to yourself and others.”

“Oh, for the love of God, Brain. Please think of something better then that. That will never work. Not again, anyway .”

“Don’t blame me. You’re the one who hasn’t included me in your life for the last three months.”

“Please, Brain. I will never smell another Sharpie again. I promise. I will drink light beer. Please!”

“Oh, okay. Just say some of that French stuff that you have hidden up in here that your French teacher used to yell at you when you were sleeping. There isn’t much to pick from, but at least it’s worth a shot. If you need me, I will be asleep.”

“Thanks, Brain. You’re the best.”

I built up my confidence, took a deep breath as said “Mange moi, je suis un Danish!”

After a few minutes of exchanging awkward looks and expressions she said,

“Tu sont une Danish? Mange Toi? Tu ne parle pas Francis.”

I stood there, completely dumbfounded, blank in the face. I reviewed my remaining options: 1. I could tell her I really didn’t know French, explain my situation and apologize; 2. I could fake a nosebleed and run; 3. I could rabidly bite her, proceed to dart around with a foamy mouth and then run away.

As luck would have it, she just turned and walked away in disgust. “Creep,” I heard as she faded into the distance.

I sat there, motionless and dumbfounded. With an open mouth, I found my lips somewhat uttering “It worked. Sweet!”

I headed off, walking proudly in the opposite direction as the girl who approached me. My stride was filled with a newfound pride. As I strolled past the mall, a puzzled girl asked, “Where is Bennett Hall?”

I jumped, panicked and chose my best available option: I bit her.

Nate Drinkwater is a first-year communications major.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 19th, 2001, 12:00 am. You can follow any responses to this article through the RSS feed.