No not your herpes, silly, your classmates returning from their life changing semester abroad. They’re back and are ready to passivley let you know that, unless you won the lotto or are named Lebron James, their first half of 2012 shat all over yours. (And yeah it didn’t help that your dog drowned himself and you got a whole truckload of herpes).
But of course they must know it’s time to move on. Their Facebook albums titled as cities you’ve only seen in movies was the end, right? They can’t possibly have more white sand beach and raised drink photos to pepper your newsfeed with, correct? Surely statuses about how they want to go back to Europe “sooooo badly” was the last you’d hear of it, true?
Tomorrow your betters will parade down College Avenue on floats shaped like the countries they studied in. A reception will follow in Dunn Meadow where your cultured counterparts will exchange stories of the clubs they “hit” in each city and the web address of their travel blogs.
But therein a problem lies.
This ravenous pack of world travelers have a thirst for talking about being abroad that can’t be quenched by trading stories with each other: there’s too much competition. A tale of making out with a Spanish girl could easily be countered by someone else’s’ account of getting with TWO Italian girls on a rented yacht. Being publicly one-upped like this would be, needless to say, a disaster.
For this reason the study abroad zombies don’t hunt within the pack. The infected are out for fresh blood to delight with their “epic” stories and they’re…coming…for…you. Don’t bother hiding. Nowhere is off limits for a full rundown of their “fucking wild” semester abroad.
No, Kilroy’s Bar isn’t a viable hiding spot they’ll compare the layout to bars in Florence. Fraternity parties I’m afraid aren’t safe either. Despite being over the frat scene after clubbing in Barcelona they will not hesitate to stop by the house and remind everyone of just that. Classes are a perfect time to mention that in London they ditched constantly because their program was a total joke. Mother Bears Pizzeria will be a hotspot for Italian study abroad students to bash American style pizza.
During these encounters give them a break and resist punching them in the stomach and spitting in their ear. Know that they do feel guilty for incessantly babbling but just can’t push such an exceptional period of their lives to the backburner so quickly.
For example, lets say you witnessed a midget on a unicycle robbing a bank. You’d sprint to tell your friends about it not to boast that you were there, but because you’d never keep something so amazing to yourself.
I know this feeling because I am one of the zombies of which I write. Not only did I go abroad but I fucking love talking about it.
The pitch line for going abroad is that it will be the best time of your life. This inevitably comes to fruition not because some older kid said so, but because everyone in the group is dedicated to making it happen from the outset, a true self-fulfilling prophecy.
Going to a different continent is great but taking pictures in front of old buildings doesn’t make you cultured and Europeans aren’t more fun than Americans. In fact they speak broken English, play our music, are creepily obsessed with American girls, and many dream of making it to the US. The best part of being abroad which is trying new foods, seeing new places, meeting new people, and getting hammered every single night aren’t exclusive to Europe nor any particular period in your life. In fact we’re set up pretty well for all of the above in every college town and decent city around the country.
Happy Welcome Week(s)
“If a girl unprovoked and without warning starts in with a little butthole play then that totally isn’t gay. And Benjamin and Thomas are just jealous little pussies if they think that it is.”