You’ve made it through a horrifyingly awkward dance. You’ve carried your mini fridge up four flights of stairs. You’ve survived the anxiety-ridden experience that is registration. Now it’s time to march into battle and win the ultimate prizes: glory, victory, bragging rights, and gift cards to that movie theater that you’ll only go to when you’re trying to show the person you’re dating how “cultured” you are. Clad in your tribe’s colors with passion in your heart, you charge the field casually wander onto the field and wonder why the majority of your unit isn’t here yet. (Answer: they’re hungover.)
Eventually, after an extended period of waiting around and trying to maintain awkward conversations with people you’ve only really known for six days, the tension mounts. Your RPLs make efforts to pump you up and when they fail, some over-hyped and over-excited fellow freshman will end up jumping on a table and letting out some guttural war cry. You’ll inevitably hear the ever-classic and somehow competitive phrase “This is Sparta” over and over and over again. You will half-heartedly join in, but someone will notice your lack of enthusiasm and force you to get up on the table as well… and this is not the first time you will be embarrassed today, so get used to it. The Brown Band marches by, playing Top 40 songs and you awkwardly hum along before you realize that everyone else at this school listens to really “underground” music and that they’re probably judging you for knowing an entire Taylor Swift song, so you quickly stop.