Orient Yourselves

When I was a junior in college, I decided to interview to be a part of the summer orientation program for the incoming freshmen. That might have been the single greatest decision I've ever made in my life. I'm known for citing those two years as the peak of my happiness because it's hard to imagine my life will ever be in such a carefree, excessively joyful place again.

The program was mandatory (much to the chagrin of high school graduates everywhere), so every incoming freshman had to sign up to attend one of nine 2-day cycles. Twenty college students were hired as "facilitators", paired up into ten guy-girl partnerships. So for each cycle, the freshmen were designated to one of our ten groups (with roughly 20 per group). The experience was much different depending on who you were. If you were an apprehensive 18-year-old newbie, those two days were the epitome of overwhelming.

As facilitators, however, we were livin' the dream. We were showered with monogrammed merchandise, free food and housing, and endless laughter to boot. Oh, and almost $3000. Ballin'.


20 Tiggers Meet 200 Eeyores

Part of our job description was to be excessively -  borderline annoyingly - excited at all times. Despite getting little to no sleep, we were expected to be Energizer Bunnies. Which generally wasn't a problem because energy stems from happiness and as I've already described, I was elated to be there.

However, this level of enthusiasm could sometimes cause some friction. Particularly when sleepy-eyed, confused teenagers arrived on campus and a crowd of college students were there to  overstimulate  welcome them with boundless energy akin to the Sham-Wow guy.

One time, I was beckoning some newcomers over to the check-in table with quasi-cheerleader moves and an iPod blasting "Come On Over" by Christina Augilera. One of the bewildered guys comes sauntering up to us, looks us right in the eye and goes, "It is too early for YOU." Point taken, my friend. Duly noted.

Let's Play!

There were plenty of sessions these kids were required to attend, but to keep them entertained, build group morale, and create opportunities for new friendships, we'd play games with them. Almost immediately on Day 1, we'd have 'em under a tree on a quad somewhere playing the Name Game. Ever went to summer camp or been forced to introduce yourself in a campy way to a new group of people? You're probably familiar with this icebreaker.

Essentially, you circle up and each person creates a creative little ditty about their name (adjective + name + verb). Mine was always "Jumping Jill" and I'd jump. Super lame, I know. I super did not care. So you'd have to declare your silly name and action, then repeat all of those before you. Naturally, I went first so as to avoid an embarrassing attempt at recalling others' names and, two years in a row, forced my partner to go last.

Despite putting them on the spot, games like this went over well with most of the Fresh Tots (one of the nicer nicknames we dubbed the kids). Mainly because they were too new and nervous to question anything. Your average Freshie would giggle nervously, make a vague chopping motion with one hand, and murmur, "I'm.... Karate Kelly....hee hee." Precious. Then there were people like "Klepto Katie" who pretended to pocket something. (My turn to laugh nervously.) And "Psycho Sam" which forced us to jot down the Counseling Services and Public Safety speed dials just in case.

Then there was the campus favorite: Huggy Bear. At first glance, this was a silly, harmless game of competitive hugging. An hour later, there'd be a broken ankle and some seriously hurt feelings. To briefly explain, any number of people could play. One person was the caller. He/she would yell out a number and everyone had to quickly create a group hug involving that number of people. If you were left out or couldn't find a group fast enough, you were out. Still doesn't sound too intense? Here's the breakdown of a typical round of Huggy Bear:


Caller: FIVE!
(Five people quickly come together in a group hug. A new best friendship has immediately formed as they laugh victoriously and celebrate their advancement to the next round.)
Caller: SEVEN!
(The five new besties need two more to join their LoveFest or they're all out. They are stressed for a few seconds, but two floaters appear out like mirages of the fog and cling onto the five-some with a collective sigh of relief. They've all survived another round! This near-death experience has solidified them as seven BFFs. Unbreakable. Together 'til the end!)
Caller: SIX!
("Sorry, Lauren." This once-inseparable group has taken all of one second to determine their weakest link and kick her off the island. Lauren's out. They have to accept their new destiny as a group of six moving forward.)
Caller: TWO!
(Aaaaand that's how the cookie crumbles. "What the !*$%, MATT?!" "I thought we were in this TOGETHER, STEPHANIE!" "Go HUG yourself, Patty!")

Rule Breakers

Somewhere amongst the morning icebreakers, we had to read our kids The Rules. As you might imagine, a group of recent high school graduates do not enjoy being sat down like first graders and warned against misbehaving. I get that. Except at this stage of the game, the rules were less like "Don't run with scissors" and more along the lines of "If you brought a flask, hide it."

And if these rules weren't broken at least once every cycle, they could absolutely be rendered unnecessary. But as it is, some of these kids hadn't gotten the memo that they were no longer the Big Man on Campus. They had reached the bottom of a new pecking order and didn't always adjust very well.

For starters, lots of kids complained about walking from place to place. On a college campus. As if we had purposely made lots of new buildings and scattered them around like Lego pieces to get these kids' heart rates up. Get used to the cardio, chillins. Then there were the delinquents. These were the ones who would skip all the sessions, wander around, then come back with a Slurpie and expect a warm welcome. We dropped your fall schedule. Naturally. (One kid in my group actually went AWOL and forced my partner and I to make a quick escape to a hidden parking lot via Batmobile. Okay, '03 Volvo.) The worst offenders reeked up their hallways with pot smoke and/or booze and angry parents had to come drag them out by the scruff of their necks. Should've hid the flask, dude.

Monotony at Its Finest

Most of the time, we facilitators were having the time of our lives. But that didn't mean the daily grind didn't eventually drive us crazy. Each of the nine cycles were identical, and we had as many as three back-to-back. Tedious is an understatement.

Most notably were the Academic Sessions. The kids ("Don't call us kids!") were broken up by major. Having never had to focus academically on anything, they were a bit lost. So we were forced to sit and watch the same professors - born around the Jurassic period - ramble through the same two-hour spiel at a glacial pace. This usually included a riveting PowerPoint, lots of awesome notes and plenty of spell-binding academic guidance. No, I'm kidding.... it was awful. The only benefit to enduring these mind-numbing sessions was the time it provided to master our impressions. We'd watch the professors so we could imitate them later to the rest of the staff. Most famous were Mr. Limited Vocab, who found ways to insert the self-assuring term "Right?" into every sentence he spoke, and Dr. Crescendo, who had no control over the volume of her voice. "Youuuu MUST withdraw from a class BY the coRECT date or yOU will recieve A DOUBLE-u on your tranSCRipt."

Nothing tested our patience more than these academic torture chambers, but I'd have to give a close second to the incessant questions. The freshmen were like a firing squad, taking turns pelting us with their latest inquiries. Now I'm completely genuine when I say I loved being there to help them. I used to be a confused and curious freshmen too, so I went out of my way a lot of the time to help them feel at ease. However, I'm only human. I can only handle the same question a few hundred times before I have to take a breath and count to 10. Especially if the question was ridiculously stupid to begin with. 

"Excuse me, can you tell me where the Student Union is?" We're currently standing in it. Imagine the self-control necessary to swallow a sarcastic answer and patiently find them a map of the building. As much as I enjoy being a mentor, it would have been equally satisfying to say, "Sure, absolutely. Just take three steps to the left, then double back to where you were standing and it'll be right there. Can't miss it."

Some Things Are Just For Us

We really were there to be supportive mentors to the incoming freshmen. Honest. But when you're given full reign over a college campus with your best friends, there are going to be times when inside jokes and staff perks trump other less-awesome responsibilities. Meals were a time to unwind and relay funny stories. So we often passed on the opportunity to sit amongst the Freshlings so we could all eat together at conjoined tables that stretched the length of the room. Wearing exactly the same outfit day in and day out (polo, khakis, monogrammed backpack) created one giant maroon monster. We couldn't help it; the camaraderie was awesome. And it continued right into the evening. On the first night of every cycle, the basement of the dorm hall was transformed into a "dance club". In other words, the lights were turned off, the same six songs were blasted from someone's laptop, and everyone lost ten pounds. I say that because the cumulative heat of 100 gyrating teenagers pre-shower was enough to make that room a sauna. As well as "an incubus of viral plague". (If you're counting, that's two Miranda Priestly quotes in one post. And what an absurdly long post it was, too. Congratulations if you made it all the way through. You deserve a medal.)