Confessions of a senior ant farmer

Well, Mom and Dad, I did it. You said it couldn’t be done, but boy were you wrong. I made it to my senior year. What’s more, I managed to do it without turning any of my undershirts pink! Take that, nay-saying parents.

Ever since I met my senior First-year Advisory Counselor that first day of orientation, I’d been counting down the days until I was also a senior. Something about him just seemed to exude an aroma of “eau de upperclassman awesomeness.” He was so cool (in a way that can only be gained by knowing the quickest route to the Levine Sciene Research Center from the bus stop), had a way with the ladies and, to top it off, he was just so dang smart (who knew My Sister’s Keeper was THAT deep)!

We’ve all experienced this feeling: the longing for it to be next year, to be one step higher on the social ladder. Freshmen want to be sophomores so they won’t be waitlisted in four classes. Sophomores want to be juniors so they can go to beer pong night at Shooters. Juniors want to be seniors so they won’t have their significant others lured away by the charm of an elder’s off-campus abode.

There’s so many promises we make to ourselves throughout our four years here. Next year I won’t get stuck in the class with the 50-page paper. Next year I’ll find a girlfriend. Next year I won’t live in Perkins. Next year I’ll finally outlive my reputation as “that guy who kind of smells like my Aunt Wilma.” Next year will be better. Next year….

But this is it, the final stop—no more “next year” for me. I’m finally a senior, king of the castle, ruler of the (Gothic Wonder)land. “How’s the view from the top?” you ask. “Is it really as different from the last three years as we convince ourselves it’ll be? Is it really that much better?”

Well, for one thing, it’s nothing like freshman year. I’m living off campus now, so no more RAs! Sure, I have a landlord, police and mean neighbors to yell at me, but at least I won’t get a meaningless warning from a peer with little to no real power! So what if I take the C-1 everyday just like I did freshman year? At least I can be assured of the fact that with my Duke T-shirt, bulging backpack and printed ACES schedule, I look nothing like a frosh.

Senior year easily trumps sophomore year as well. Being secluded in an off-campus apartment filling out countless job applications while having little contact with the outside world is so much better than being secluded in the back of Edens 1C studying my butt off while having little contact with the outside world.

Even compared to junior year, everything is looking up, especially with the ladies. Everyone knows senior guys get all the girls. I may still be as single as I was this time last year, but I’m sure that’s only temporary. Now that I’m a senior hunk, I just know girls won’t be turned off by my used celebrity Q-tip collection anymore. If only I hadn’t left my ant farm in the car overnight on the drive down here (RIP Ant 1, Ant 2, Gigantic, General Ulysses S. Grant, Cantaloupe and Steve), I’m sure they’d have loved that too. Side note: I actually did have an ant farm, and it was awesome.