Oh, Hell Yeah: I Run Into My Best Friend at One of the Two Locations We Always Frequent on Campus

Imagine you go on a date and the girl has choppy dyed purple hair and won’t shut the fuck up about liberal feminism. How would you feel? 

Now imagine the exact opposite of that. You hang out with a girl strictly platonically, she has virgin dark luscious locks, and all she talks about is Paglia and Jordan Peterson. Now that’s what I call college!

Well, being friends with my BFF Garce G. (C’22) is exactly like that. She is the best. We are on the exact same wavelength. She makes fun of my Chinese accent in a way that is offensive enough to nullify my self-consciousness and elicit joy against all odds. She gave me an edible one night last fall that made me hear four-dimensional geometry in the song “Enchanted” by critically acclaimed country singer/songwriter Taylor S. And that night upon returning home I invited to my room, and effectively, my life, a man who would subsequently murder my entire family (He is still at large). One time I misbehaved so bad at a formal and left a trail of barf on South Street through the window of an uber, it was Garce who picked up all the vomit using her two delicate bare hands. 

Garce is Jewish.

I love Garce. 

I used to be able to see her location on my iPhone (SE 3rd generation) and intercept her wherever the fuck and vibe as hell. But due to recent mental meltdown and total annihilation of the self, I removed the function from my iPhone (SE 3rd generation) entirely. I am no longer to intercept Garce wherever the fuck or vibe as hell. How do I find her? It’s not like I can just text her and be like “wya.” Because that’d be so fucking weird. 

The morning after the worst night of my life, I enter Williams Hall. Before I turn the corner to the pit of WilCaf, I already smell it in the air. My JewDar is on. Garce. Hell yeah. I see you, brother. I come to you. One day I will weep for this.