Shopping Period With A Side Of Buffalo Sauce


[Jordan Ascher was unable to write his column this week due to circumstances. We apologize, because we know that you like it when he writes a column, and that your week will be worse because he didn’t. Instead, we offer you the next best thing: a transcription of his inner monologue, recorded by the device that was implanted in your brains when you matriculated. Don’t worry about it!]

Ah, here I am. Back at college, just like that. Gosh, this is an awfully nice place, isn’t it? Yes sir, I am refreshed, relaxed and ready to learn. Ooh, look, those Occupy New Haven people are still here. Good for them. “We are the 99%!” You know, those guys have a point. I really should learn a bit more about income inequality. Maybe I’ll do some reading up on that in my free time. Let me just pay this here cabby and step for the first time into the fresh New Haven air.

Holy crap it’s cold. Oh god it’s so cold. But! That doesn’t matter. Winter in New England — how romantic! The bracingly cold air will invigorate me as I walk to class and imbue my cheeks with a rosy hue! Speaking of which, classes. All right, it’s a good thing I prepared over break and have a sensible shopping schedule all ready. Let me sit down in my common room (still musty and too hot, I see! Whatever!) and take a look.

Funny, it seems like I forgot to pick any classes at all. I could have sworn I did, but apparently not. Really? Did I really not pick any classes? Well. That’s fine. That’s what shopping period is for, you know. Exploring. Why is this vein in my forehead throbbing? Am I having a heart attack? Am I about to die? It is so cold outside. It is so cold outside. Why is it getting dark, it’s only 4 in the afternoon. It is so cold outside. It is so cold outside. It is so cold outside.

[All of Jordan’s thoughts between Jan. 8 and Jan. 16 have been removed from this column.]

It is so cold outside. It is so cold outside. It is so cold outside.

Huh? Where am I? Why am I covered in Buffalo sauce? Is this a dagger, which I see before me, the handle toward my hand? Ha, good one, me. Looks like my wit is still intact. Umph. OK, there’s my computer. Let me go check it. Email time! What have you got for me today, Internet? Fifteen unread emails! This should be fun!

Hey, that cool professor from that cool seminar emailed me! Good news, I presume. Oh. I didn’t get in. Well, you know, you can’t win them all. But lookie here! Another! This one — I have a good feeling about this one. Let’s just open that email up aaaaaand … oh. Um, alright. Well, 0 for 2, old buddy! Surely this third one couldn’t possibly be — AAAURGHRGH. DAG-FREAKING-NABBIT. How dare all these horrible professors reject me! Don’t they know who I am?! Surely I made it clear to them that I am, in fact, exceptional!

Hold on, what is happening to my eyes? Are my eyes sweating? Why are my eyes making eye-water? Has it come to this — me alone in my room, covered in Buffalo sauce, watering my eyes out like a weak little child? Pride, Jordan. Pride. Maybe I can learn something from all this. Maybe it was unwise of me to hang my semester on the hope of getting into three junior history seminars. Maybe my hubris was too great. Maybe the time has come to make peace with the fact that I am not, in fact, exceptional. I’m just one out of many. Yes, that feels right. Let me step into the night — cold as it may be — and look up at the beautiful New Haven sky. I’m sure that the sight of the heavenly bodies making their nightly rounds through the sky will reassure me that all is well, that the world will continue to turn, that in spite of adversity and stress, I will be all right. Let me just open the door onto my beautiful courtyard, and see …