Welcome to the Jungle
Wow, you’ve just escaped your parent’s never ending hugs, and they have finally headed home, while you find yourself for the first time by yourself. Oh, the excitement! What shall you do first!? “Where should I go first?!” The possibilities are endless! You decide to go back to your dorm because hey, you have a while to explore all the crazy new places. After you unpack all your stuff in organized fashion, that you promise yourself will stay organized for at least another fifteen minutes, you decide to go make some new friends. You hit it off with so many people right away. Within the first hour, you know thirty-six people’s names, majors, and hometowns. During dinner, you realize you can’t remember most of their names, but hey, that’s not a big deal; you guys are already such great friends.
The first Friday has arrived, and you’re ready to find out exactly why UCSB is labeled a party school. You cruise Del Playa (the party street) to find a plethora of eager party people. There seems to be a party at every house. You try to get into one, just to be denied at the door. Huh, that’s weird. You continue to try, but continue to be stopped at the doors, and sent aback by testosterone-filled frat guys. You have the sudden realization that your school breeds discrimination. Discrimination against men. You realize how unfair it is that girls get into parties, but for guys not in frats, it’s hoping for a miracle, or at least the name of that guy someone knows. You will be the one who finally speaks out. You will be the Martin Luther King Jr. of guys who cannot get into parties; you will be the trailblazer who ends the meaningless discrimination, but suddenly you feel a vibration in your right pocket. Your friend has sent you a message with an address and the excitement-inducing word, “cruise!” You have come to a fork in the road. Will you stay on your path to fight for equality for the men who cannot get into parties, or will you try to have a good time? Google maps is opened and you head off to your new destination.
You’re no Martin Luther King Jr, but at least you can try to get drunk and go dance with random girls who you’ll add on Snapchat only to forget their names in the morning. Well, kid, the first week was great. You met a lot of people, but you still hang mostly with people you live with. You got to go to a bunch of crazy parties, each of which you only got to stay for twenty minutes, because of the Isla Vista Noise Ordinances. You are officially an independent college student, who secretly is already thinking about going back home and seeing your family and friends. The world is your oyster, there are endless possibilities, and your next course of action shall be … learning how to do laundry. Fuck.