Westwood, Calif.—Have you ever heard the rumors about UCLA—that it’s enormous, impersonal, extremely competitive and constantly on Red Bull? After four weeks of work and summer classes there, I can tell you that it’s all true, and a bit more.

The H Bomb,

You don’t go to Harvard. In fact, you know nothing about Harvard. You’re a Bruin, all the way. Just remember not to call yourself a junior—you’re a third-year. You have total dedication to anything blue and gold, and complete disdain for anything east of the 405 Freeway, including all Ivy League schools. Those were the ones you didn’t get into, the ones that you talk about with your friends when you’re sharing your GPAs and SAT scores around the clock. Privacy? Nonexistent. Respect for success? It’s called jealousy.

Unless you have a complete set of recordings about how much you like Harvard and how it is different from UCLA in every single way, and a tape player whose batteries won’t run out, don’t drop the H-bomb. I made that mistake, and it cost me dearly—a lot of potential friends, nice people who are reluctant to see anything deeper in me than the fact that by some lucky stroke of admissions, I got into Harvard. What they don’t realize is that in interrogating me about the college I attend, they aren’t telling me anything about themselves, which would have taught me so much more than an ability to recite the same dialogue (e.g. “Yes, the campus is smaller. No, we don’t have University-recognized frats”) three times a day. If you let “Harvard” slip from between your lips by accident, though, just say that everything is exactly the same as at UCLA, leaving them dumbstruck without any more Harvard questions.

Food

Missing Annenberg’s famous London Broil? No problem—just head over to one of UCLA’s famous “dining restaurants” for some nourishment, located for your convenience inside each residence hall. There, you will be welcomed by a cashier who informs you that backpacks are not allowed inside, but you can obtain a free token (which makes no sense to anyone) and stash your stuff in a locker. Be prepared to spend at least five minutes trying to jam your backpack into a tiny, five-square-inch space. And if you can’t fit it? Leave it sitting outside and hope for the best, wallet and all.