I don't know about you (and frankly, I don't wanna know about you), but I spend at least two-thirds of my waking hours deftly avoiding contact or conversation with people who annoy the bejeeezis out of me, i.e. everyone. As any good opthamologist will gladly tell you, it's all about the eyes, baby! We Dukies have innovated several fool-proof techniques for avoiding eye contact, some of which I will examine here in the particular order in which I thought of them:
(1) The most accessible and frequently used Evasive Eye Maneuver (EEM, I hate that band!) has to be the watch check. Even on short notice, the watch can supply vital seconds of non-head-uprightness (that is a technical term), allowing you to safely pass the guy who was suspended for a semester because the Resident Advisor found your stash in his room, whilst you remain punctual and busy-looking at the same time. At worst, if he notices you, your diligent watch examining gives you precedence for not stopping: "Sorry, dude, gotta head to class." If you're good, you can make this work on weekends.
(2) Similar to the watch check, and equally as popular, is the "Man, that flyer really interests me!" or "Wow, look what's going on up in that tree!" technique. Most people think that the flyers repetitiously plastered on the Bryan Center walkway are worthless, and on most occasions, I would heartily agree. But when you're walking head-on into the girl whose ass you accidentally grabbed at a Chi-O formal, you need something to divert your attention. "Why yes, I AM interested in Queer bobsledding." When no flyers are in sight (which we know is virtually impossible given the existence of the Self-Knowledge Symposium) you must become an instant botany major. Admire the changing leaves, pick an acorn, shoot a hawk-just remember to keep that chin up!
(3) One of my personal favorites is the physical discomfort . If you have nothing on which to outwardly focus your attention, look at yourself. Scratch your leg, rub your eye, pick your nose, adjust your cup-these are all worthy ways to cut precious seconds from possible eye contact time. One time I got stuck in the Mongolian grill line behind my old FAC whom I hadn't spoken to since Maya Angelou, and I scratched my left eyes so long that it actually popped out and landed in the water chestnuts. Oh, I'm just kidding, I had spoken to her once.
In conclusion, one can see that there are many, many ways to avoid eye contact at Duke.... What? I still have three hundred words left? Great, just when the back-to-back Home Improvement episodes are coming on. Man that guy's funny! I just can't wait to see what appliance he rigs up to a jet engine his time! Huh, huh, huh! Anyhoo, I guess I better make up some more crap.
Uh, right, so as I was saying, avoiding eye contact applies to more venus than just walkways and such. The bus is still the worst place for those of us who can't stand to look at each other. For instance, nobody likes to get stuck in the confrontation seats in the front and rear of some of the busses. Ya know, the ones that face inward. You can't help but stare directly at the ugly mug of the guy across from you. But that's why God invented The Chronicle (or was it Krappus, the Greek god of half-assed journalism?). People will read anything to avert their eyes. I think I've read those damned "Bus Safety Rules" 20 trillion times by now. "No swinging from bars," that's funny stuff. What I really miss are those stupid little ads they used to have in busses about alcohol poisoning and herpes and what-not. I guess with the Neo-Fascist keg policy nobody at Duke has to worry about that kind of stuff anymore (subtle political jibe).
The same thing applies to eating establishments. I find it extremely hard to believe that so many people who eat alone bury their heads deep in their Chronicles because they are really that interested in Spectrum's (sorry! Prism's) latest opinion on "quad squirrel diversity." Why do we feel like freakish social misfits just because we happen to be eating alone? My favorite trick is to pretend that my gang of friends are still in line somewhere, and that I'm eagerly awaiting their imminent arrival. "Man, where are those guys?" I mutter loudly as I crane my neck to search the line, checking my watch every two minutes for emphasis.
DISCO STU is co-president of "Fleece Go Home!" a non-profit fleece hate group.
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