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When you're in college—whether at a mid-sized state school or a secluded liberal arts university—you learn right away that you're surrounded by thousands of people who fall into far fewer categories. Like, 10 of them, tops. And most of them aren't fun. In fact, you'll spend most of your college career finding the few individuals that transcend these types. You'll call them "friends."
To ease the pain, here are the 10 types of people you'll meet at college.
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Freshmen
You'll annoy everyone your first year, and really there's nothing to be done about it. Some upperclassman will be nicer about it than others, but the general consensus is that you're a microcosm of all the douchebaggery clogging college life.
For starters, you leech off everyone's party goods, counting on upperclassmen to get you "schwasted" night-in and night-out, and then expect them to coddle you when you drink too much, which inevitably you will do.
Then there's your youthful ignorance: you don't actually know anything. Your worldview was shaped by parents who, for all we know, think microwave ovens are secret mind-control devices invented by the Chinese to suppress the masses.
Boys: You possess little game. Many of you will count on youthful good looks and striped polo shirts from the mall to carry you into the dorm room of some poor girl.
Girls: Are you that poor girl? Does your idealized version of a man fit the description above? Still looking forward to freshman year?
Victory Lappers
You're never leaving. The friends you entered college alongside graduated two, sometimes three years ago, and you're cultivating a reputation as the wise-but-cool older guy who hangs around and likes theater. At least, you hope that's your rep, and not one that involves rumors of statutory rape. You spend evenings driving underclassmen around, downplaying the fact that you're 26.
Your B.S. in psychology is nearing completion, a prospect you're dreading because it means the end of government-subsidized living and the beginning of hundreds of thousands in loan repayments. Townie life awaits.
Philosophers
You don't prefer the term "philosophy major." We're sure your parents appreciate that you're pissing away $30,000 a year on an education you could've surely gained by entering and never leaving a public library. You read an excerpt of Volatire's Candide once, and now you're convinced that all humanity is a plague upon the earth. You emerge from four grueling years of intensive perusal still a hermit, but a learned hermit, a description that will be sure to "wow" prospective employers everywhere but in real life.
Similarly, let's talk about English majors. We're sure your parents appreciate that you're pissing away $30,000 a year on an education you could've surely gained by entering and never leaving a public library. You read an excerpt of Cormac McCarthy's Blood Meridian once, and now you're convinced that all humanity is a plague upon the earth. You emerge from four years of intensive perusal still a hermit, but a learned hermit, a description that will be sure to "wow" prospective employers everywhere but in real life.
Stoners
Before moving into the dorm, you texted your roommates to ask if they partook in ritual consumption of the herb. Now, a semester and a half into school, you're an indisputable expert on the subject of marijuana.
You toke every morning because you think it helps you focus—and hey, maybe it does—but you can't escape the notion that weed makes you smarter. Recently, you and a group of friends discussed rocks—just rocks, man—and it was so illuminating, you couldn't help but prattle on about it for hours to anyone that'll listen. Here, you say, pushing the roach forward, just try.
The Socially Conscious
You enforce political correctness, which would be admirable if you weren't such a fascist about it. That is to say, you'll excommunicate people who don't adhere to your insane standards. And it's all in the name of some ugly, bastardized form of social justice that prevents you from enjoying things like, say, rap music. You're just way too left-leaning for 2 Chainz. Or so you say. Are you sure it's not because he took all your girls?
The Hard Worker
You've already worked 5,346 hours this week (before counting overtime), and that's in addition to juggling 15 hours of class. You're working 72 different jobs to pay for school this semester, and the rest of us feel bad about it. Perhaps your situation would be better if you stopped ranting about it over the phone every chance you get. Even though your excessive whining annoys us sometimes, we have really do have mad respect for you guys. For real. Just, you know, call less.
Try-Hards
There's no reason to fault people for wanting to be successful. After all, that's why you're in school, right? But your existence isn't meaningless if your GPA dips below a 4.0. If you go out with us on a Friday night, you aren't going to drink too much and forget to take your test on Monday. You don't have to go study right now—you just got back from the fucking library, and what you really need is to just eat this bowl of ramen and play Mario Kart, okay?
Sorority Sisters
You only roll with frat guys, if you roll with anyone at all. Mostly, you sit around in your cozy plantation-style home with 80 other girls, watching and re-watching The Notebook and crying again every time you see Noah and Allie's corpses decomposing. Mostly, you live a privileged life, where the chief concerns are remembering what alliances you're honoring today, and which ones you aren't because someone looked at you wrong. A creepy but caring housemother presides over this charade like a 1950s-era housewife. Other girls envy you and the hive-like network of friends you're paying thousands of dollars to keep. You all hate each other, and you're smiling that hard to prove it.
Bros
You call frustrating circumstances "gay," (alternatively: "gaaaaay"). You're wearing pastel pink shorts as you read this, and they look great. Sure, you joined that fraternity earlier in the year because of your commitment to philanthropy, which translates to chugging Four Lokos, mutilating individualism, and demeaning your brothers regularly. You're just a couple gorilla steps away from fascism.
Pseudo-Hipsters
You were so hip in high school. Everybody loved you—either that, or they were seething with envy every time you entered the classroom, with your fitted trousers and horn-rims from Warby Parker. But what happened? You're not existential or transcendental or god-rejecting enough to fit in with the pretentious douchebags in college. You don't even like yoga. Naked Lunch sits unfinished beneath your bed, and you lie all the time about having read Post Office or seen The Seventh Seal. Hit the books and the art house theater and the thrift store and the yoga studio, kid. You have a lot of work ahead of you before you can be cool again.