Monday, April 12, 2010

The Propagandists

Interactions with these people always result in Honor Code violations. No, they're not prostitutes or people who force boys to grow beards, they're the club representatives shoving those tiny colored papers in your face as you try to make your way to the Cougar Eat, forcing you to lie through your teeth and thus betray your honor and promise to attend the dance/service activity/blood drive. And don't get me wrong, it is great that we have a college campus where people are involved in Things...but don't we have any sort of environmentalist club? Are they not opposed to this immense waste of paper? NO ONE keeps these flyers. If I ever see an exceptionally conscientious student who carefully places one of these notices in his planner rather than in the trash or in that random, unused pocket in his or his backpack, I will do consecutive somersaults all the way from the JKB to the MARB. Plus I never remember what the flyer is actually advertising because I'm too focused on the cute guy that gave it to me (which is a separate issue altogether: convincing poor stupid girls like me that he only hands ads for his volleyball game to the girls he likes? For shame) or on the candy that was taped to it.

Saturday, April 3, 2010

The Waldo

This person first comes on your radar because of one defining feature that makes them pop out from the rest of the herd on campus. This defining feature can be anything from an attention grabbing hairstyle to a rather unforgiving facial feature. But the Waldo can also just be an extreme example of how hot Mormons really are—a personal favorite.

After the Waldo has caught your eye, BYU’s campus shrinks from 40,000 (?) to that of a small-town high school, in that you can’t go anywhere without seeing the Waldo. Suddenly you are on the same cross-campus-walk-schedule as they are, and you can spot them faster than any red and white striped turtleneck (no matter how cute Waldo's little red beanie is). And when you’re using Photo Booth to make sure you don’t have keyboard marks all over your face after your supra-laptop nap, the Waldo will somehow pop into the back of your frame like big foot in camping pictures.

If the Waldo is of the hot variety, you’re always sure to spot him/her at your most attractive moments, i.e. with Taco Bell dripping down your chin, or just after you’ve taken a nasty slip on the ice that makes everyone around you look at you with what they think is sympathy, but comes across as ridicule.

If by chance you end up interacting with the Waldo for realzies, they are almost never the same person you’d envisioned them to be (i.e. they actually have a voice, and if they are of the hot variety they’re not that interested in being the father/mother of your unborn children). This personality swap usually leaves you feeling like the heroine from a 1960’s drama where someone yells “it’s like I don’t even know you anymore!”