"Everything means less than zero." Elvis Costello
Freshman Week is like a bad simile--self-conscious, strained, shallow, you want to say everything, but end up conveying only your desperation. You enter Harvard Yard and think, "Well, this is the beginning of a new chapter in my life," and then try to write it without understanding the setting, the characters or the tone. But if that's too abstract, let's put it another way--you're like a large, black dog in a sea of blind porpoises. No, a jellybean nestled in the center of a goose-liver pate.
The point is, don't be so self-conscious, don't be so quick to judge every babbling idiot or drunken scumbag you encounter, don't search for weighty metaphors or all-encompassing aphorisms to capture that "My word, everything's fucked up" feeling, don't try to create a niche for yourself in one week, and don't overrate the importance of those first few days.
The first thing you'll realize when you arrive at Harvard Yard is that nobody will ask you what college you're going to, and you won't get terribly far dropping the name. Put away your Harvard tee-shirt, because it ain't chic here, it's overkill.
Moving in will be a mob scene. If such situations upset you, bring plenty of Valium. Dope is usually effective, but may encourage your paranoia.
****
6:58. You stand, luggage in hand, at the threshold of your college career, at the steps of your freshman dorm. Always prepared, you found out early about those legendary assholes who show up early and grab the single. Beat them at their own game, you say.
6:59. A hush falls over the crowd--your janitor, jingling a keyring in his annual show of authority, emerges from the leafy green of Harvard yard and mounts the steps. You scan the competition, looking for an angle that will bring you through the door before your still-anonymous cohabitants.
7:00. The race is on. You get your second wind by the third flight--the others are falling behind. You burst through the appointed door, an easy first. Relax, you tell yourself, you roommates probably won't even show til tomorrow. Smooth sailing.
7:02. You stroll towards the only single, throwing your nylon duffle to reserve the bed just in case. Clothes in the closet...what's this? A note on the desk. "Hi! Welcome to Harvard. I'm working dorm crew, be back at five. Hope you don't mind that I took the single. See ya, Jan."
7:05. Despair. An inauspicious start, you say. Sit on your bed and wait. Your proctor will come by and console you. He will even know your name and recognize your face. They have to study the freshman face book.
****
There will be receptions for parents in the Harvard Union, which they will undoubtedly want to attend. Parents go for that kind of thing; they love walking around Harvard Yard and babbling over lukewarm coffee about how classy it all is--down to the elite roaches in your bathroom sink. They really mean it when they say it's your school; they think you own it. "Your library is so magnificent!" they squeal. Or, "It says in the paper that a Harvard professor just testified at a Congressional hearing. Aren't you proud?" To which one replies "shift no--he forgot everything I told him to say."
The freshman seminar booklet you received over the summer can be a shocker. You may have imagined narrow fields of expertise at Harvard, but the obscure snippets of academia which make up freshman seminar courses are probably your first encounter with just how erudite and moldy some professors can be.
It's worth your time to muddle through, however, and if you don't find something you like the first time, try again, and this time show a little spirit. Work up some enthusiasm. Freshman seminars, mostly taught by professors, are among the best opportunities you will have here. The courses are small, the professors often teach what they are currently working on or are most interested in, and the classes are specifically for freshmen--not condescendingly, but without presumption.
