Tripping on the concourse:
The concourse is uneven, but I don’t have to tell you that. You have scuffed shoes, scraped knees and your own searing public humiliation as evidence. The slightly raised bricks on the concourse are nearly imperceptible to the naked eye—but when you trip over them, you can be sure everyone will see. This year, it’s time to stop embarrassing yourself in front of the organizations lining the concourse. Take a piece of chalk, outline the offending bump and avoid it at all costs.
Getting lost in Haley:
From freshmen to fifth years, there is not one among us who can claim to understand the layout of Haley Center. No matter how many classes you’ve had there, you still routinely find yourself wandering through its dark recesses praying you don’t encounter a Minotaur. This is the year you finally nail down that complex mnemonic device (four...for Foy...), or maybe just memorize your route to class and never deviate from it.
Making proximity friendships:
At the beginning of every fall semester, you’re guaranteed to meet some people you won’t know by spring. These are called proximity friendships because they arise from convenience, not compatibility. It stands to reason that you might find friends you share more with than that guy lurking around the lobby of your dormitory at 2 a.m. Join organizations, volunteer or find a church where you can meet like-minded peers. This year, you’re not going to settle for Steve just because he lives next door and owns a Blu-Ray capable television.
Taking 8 a.m. classes:
You never wake up for them, and when you do manage to drag yourself out of bed, you wish you hadn’t. No amount of core credits or graduation requirements is worth the self loathing you feel at the sound of your alarm. This year, you are starting your classes at 10 a.m.
Relying on AU Alert:
The concept of having breaking news sent straight to your phone was revolutionary. No more waiting around for an email or call during an emergency. However, the AU Alert system seems to still be working out some kinks, like sending students an emergency message at 4 p.m. for a tornado warning that ended at 12 p.m. At that rate, you’ll be in Oz long before Auburn tells you to take cover. This year, just turn on the weather channel.