RED ALERT: BATHROOM CLOSED FOR CLEANING
...and this close to it still being crossover hour?!
Tuesday, 7:35 p.m.
Reported incident in the Frisc at 12:32 a.m.:
A library user was playing Taylor Swift's "Love Story" out loud and singing along, accompanied with giggles and shrieks. The otherwise silent area was unsure of how to address the situation.
"That's just embarrassing," one onlooker said to no one in particular.
Suddenly, the culprit became aware of her actions. "I'm totally humiliated!"
The reporter on the scene had reasons to believe that it was a dare, as the girl resumed her activity minutes later.
An uprising took place within the 25 Decibels. "Can we save Taylor Swift for the shower???"
A library user was playing Taylor Swift's "Love Story" out loud and singing along, accompanied with giggles and shrieks. The otherwise silent area was unsure of how to address the situation.
"That's just embarrassing," one onlooker said to no one in particular.
Suddenly, the culprit became aware of her actions. "I'm totally humiliated!"
The reporter on the scene had reasons to believe that it was a dare, as the girl resumed her activity minutes later.
An uprising took place within the 25 Decibels. "Can we save Taylor Swift for the shower???"
Thursday, 5:55 p.m.
Note to study room users:
The doors push in. STOP TRYING TO PULL THEM. You will only fall (as I once actually saw happen).
A haiku to help you remember:
eager to join friends/ you pull on study room door/ fucking dumbasses*
*Please be advised that TFTF does not take credit for this work of creativity.
The doors push in. STOP TRYING TO PULL THEM. You will only fall (as I once actually saw happen).
A haiku to help you remember:
eager to join friends/ you pull on study room door/ fucking dumbasses*
*Please be advised that TFTF does not take credit for this work of creativity.
Sent from a friend at Monday, 9:42 p.m.
My friends complain that the Frisc's noise levels make work prohibitive. Others bemoan the lack of computers. Maybe the horrific lighting.
I, too, am constantly frustrated by study sessions in the Frisc. I never seem to get ANYTHING done. I don't care if you and your friend want to roll on the floor laughing. Go ahead, answer your phone. I don't give a fuck.
But if you and I have ever been romantically involved, can you PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY - FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO STUDY?
Every goddamn time I'm here, there's some awkward run-in.
It's the guy I hooked up with last night, I've been wondering if he was going to call but it's too soon after the hookup to know for sure. Here we are, awkwardly conversing by the stairs about the paper he has due tomorrow for some obscure AmCiv seminar. Awkward awkward awkward.
It's the guy who I'm hooking up with but didn't really feel like seeing tonight, now he wants to know what I'm working on and when I'm going to be leaving. As if.
It's my ex, who I used to run into here all the time when we were a thing. Guess I should've thought to negotiate who gets Frisc-rights post-breakup.
I'm here, and I'm consumed with who the fuck I'm going to run into this time. Who of my portfolio of awkward relationships is going to appear out of nowhere while I'm struggling to staple that zillion-page article?
The worst part? I'm here to STUDY. I look like complete and total shit. If you want to run into me at a frat party, fine. I'm prepared. Sluttified. Made up. No dark circles.
The thing about Frisc collisions is that you can never anticipate them. Or prepare yourself. They will find you after you just messed up your hair in academic frustration. After you rubbed your eyes, smudging mascara across your undereye. You're bloodshot. Broken out. Washed out under the fluorescents.
So why don't I just give up coming here, you ask? I'm a sadist. As I write, I'm surreptiously sneaking glances at a boy I made out with last Halloween. FML
I, too, am constantly frustrated by study sessions in the Frisc. I never seem to get ANYTHING done. I don't care if you and your friend want to roll on the floor laughing. Go ahead, answer your phone. I don't give a fuck.
But if you and I have ever been romantically involved, can you PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS HOLY - FIND SOMEWHERE ELSE TO STUDY?
Every goddamn time I'm here, there's some awkward run-in.
It's the guy I hooked up with last night, I've been wondering if he was going to call but it's too soon after the hookup to know for sure. Here we are, awkwardly conversing by the stairs about the paper he has due tomorrow for some obscure AmCiv seminar. Awkward awkward awkward.
It's the guy who I'm hooking up with but didn't really feel like seeing tonight, now he wants to know what I'm working on and when I'm going to be leaving. As if.
It's my ex, who I used to run into here all the time when we were a thing. Guess I should've thought to negotiate who gets Frisc-rights post-breakup.
I'm here, and I'm consumed with who the fuck I'm going to run into this time. Who of my portfolio of awkward relationships is going to appear out of nowhere while I'm struggling to staple that zillion-page article?
The worst part? I'm here to STUDY. I look like complete and total shit. If you want to run into me at a frat party, fine. I'm prepared. Sluttified. Made up. No dark circles.
The thing about Frisc collisions is that you can never anticipate them. Or prepare yourself. They will find you after you just messed up your hair in academic frustration. After you rubbed your eyes, smudging mascara across your undereye. You're bloodshot. Broken out. Washed out under the fluorescents.
So why don't I just give up coming here, you ask? I'm a sadist. As I write, I'm surreptiously sneaking glances at a boy I made out with last Halloween. FML
Sunday, 11:38 p.m.
Overheard: "I've been on Facebook for three hours, but because I've been in the SciLi, I can pretend I was being productive."
Amen.
Amen.
Sunday, 11:47 a.m.
There is an odd trust system that develops within the confines of the Frisc. We ask perfect strangers to keep an eye on our laptops and we share our personal space as we crowd at the computer table. Consistent Frisc users return to the same location daily, creating a de facto Frisc posse. We may not acknowledge each other outside of the SciLi’s walls, but in here, we smile at each other as if to say, “I feel your pain.”
Thursday, 8:29 p.m.
... and on that note, the 50 decibels is the de facto calling area. You are expected - if not encouraged - to lounge on the reddish leather thing and speak as loudly as you possibly can. And not a single person can object - even if they can hear you over in the 00s - because YOU are in the 50 decibel zone.
