By Sarah Gross '18
Hey you bitches, time for some Unsolicited Advice™.
First of all, literally how many seconds could you possibly need to decide which type of coffee to get? Since no one drinks the decaf, you bet your ass there ain’t NO difference between the “Tres” and “Dark” roast coffees, never has been and never will be. Just make up your goddamn mind, and get the one closest to you. Then, kindly move directly out of the way while you lovingly sprinkle exactly 137 grains of sugar and 10.4 microliters of half and half into that little paper cup. There is no need for this kind of precision. Now make no mistake, this is not to degrade those among us who take milk and sugar in their coffee. Far be it for me to deny such simple pleasures to my peers. I only mean to point out that, honestly, that burnt water is going to taste the same whether you stir it tenderly whilst standing in my way versus if you kinda just swirl it around while you power-walk to class. Or home, or back to the table you have been loitering at for far too long, disallowing all the rest of us from being able to walk safely by the line of little metal round tables without having to either avert our eyes or blush with pity when we catch yours.
This brings me to my next point––stop driving so fast. I get that you are probably like me, i.e., serially late and chronically impatient. Nevertheless, neither of those circumstances, nor any other, excuses the fact that the only thing keeping me from being hit by your 60 mph subaru on college drive is instinct. That’s right, it is indeed no conscious decision keeping me from remaining on the sidewalk when you drift over into it, only pure primeval compulsion. Would that it were, I would *for sure* allow myself to be hit, as I desperately desire for any one of you to pay off my student loans, and my patience for sitting through some sort of lawsuit far outweighs my patience for standing in line for the printer which I do on a regular basis. So if you’re counting on me to get out of your way when you almost hit me, don’t. Just drive the speed limit, which who knows what the fuck it even is because I don’t think I’ve ever seen a sign and Young Mike™ is a primary offender so obviously campus safety doesn’t know either.