I am going to be honest with you -- it has not been easy adjusting to life at the University of Virginia.
I don't know what's wrong with me. It's not even the standard first-year hazards -- laundry, late-night carbohydrate binges, "worldly" older frat guys.
No, to a girl from Arizona, U.Va. is just plain different.
I'm not sure what I expected. It's difficult to explain my feelings of alienation. Maybe it's just college in general. Maybe it's the transition from an all-girls Catholic high school. Or maybe I'm just way out of my element.
I've tried to assimilate -- my Mom Fed-Exed me my pearls, I called upon my graduated sister to determine the low-volume hours at the AFC, I even caught myself saying "y'all" (just once).
Yet I am, and always will be, a Western girl
through and through.
Once I came to terms with my foreign background, I found that the "Virginia bubble" and the West are not all that different. One similarity, a universal phenomenon, revealed itself immediately. I feel it deserves special attention because it is something on which I am sure we can all find some common ground.
It was early on, about a month ago, and I was standing (or shall I say leaning) against the polished dark wood counter at a certain Corner establishment. Yes, needless to say, I was feeling pretty good. So good, in fact, that I thought it'd be quite generous of me to share some of my good cheer.
You can probably guess what happened next.
Out came that deadly little silver device -- so shiny, perfectly- streamlined and conveniently ergonomic. Those Samsung guys have made it too easy, with a special one-touch keypad, a backlit LCD screen, and the multi-entry phonebook, all one has to do is "scroll and send." It's the "Age of the Drunk-Dial" -- and it's here to stay. It doesn't matter if it's Phoenix or Charlottesville, (or any other university campus, for that matter). Nowadays, when people are sufficiently inebriated, they reach not for another drink, but their cell phone.
I'll freely admit: I'm guilty, especially on the night in question. I pulled out the trusty old cell, struggling for a moment with the flip earpiece. Not to rely on lame excuses, but I was feeling a little foreign to the U.Va. scene, (as we've already discussed,) so naturally, I was craving familiar voices. The first few calls were harmless enough -- Caitlin at Vanderbilt, Cristina at Southern Methodist, Jessica at Notre Dame -- the girls from home expect it, and they've been doing their fair share of drunk-dials themselves. They would probably even be disappointed in my first-year antics if I did not summon them screaming over the clang of beer glasses and background chatter.
So I made my rounds on the female scene, and decided I should move on to the opposite sex. As a warm-up, I called my 15-year-old brother and my best guy friend at home -- they seemed to be doing well with girls and football so I yelled farewell and gathered my liquid courage to continue with the males.
Mind you, I had not consumed another drink. I'm not really sure what pushes one over into inappropriate calling territory, but there I was, my finger hovering over the number for my prom date.
Things were about to get ugly.
I'm not going into specifics on the situation, (this is my first column after all), but let's just say I hadn't spoken to this guy since, well, prom night. So what proceeds from here, I must warn you, is not classy. It is not even rational. Yet there I was justifying my behavior as taking advantage of those night and weekend minutes.
Kyle answered on the first ring. We fought -- hejustifiably was angry with me, seeing as I avoided him for four months. I also was at a disadvantage, because I had caught him on a night when he actually was sober. As you might infer, I spent the next week unraveling the web of insults and regrettable comments.
If this anecdote sounds familiar, I doubt you are alone. I've observed similar episodes in the weeks since. One inevitably progresses from the relatively innocuous realm of old high school buddies and siblings to the dark side of exes and crushes. Incoherent messages, inappropriate suggestions, the blatant forwardness associated with the drunk-dials -- I've been both a recipient and a witness. Even the Cav Daily has its own Drunk-Dialers (see Sound Bytes, 10/11). And let me tell you, it's not just U.Va.
Across high school and college campuses, the cell phone is changing the way people communicate, even in their relationships. I suppose I feel a little more at home having realized the propensity of U.Va. students to drunk-dial. It's perfectly acceptable party behavior, it's just more entertaining when you're on the other end of the line.
As I continue adjusting to life as a Virginia first year, I am instituting a few changes in my standard behavior. Along with the jumbo Aquafina and Advil, my post-drinking ritual currently includes a quick check of my "call history" to ensure the Kyle debacle doesn't happen again. I also deleted any perilous numbers from my phonebook (and I suggest you do the same). After all, the semester still is young -- and no matter how accustomed to U.Va. I may become, I will be returning to Arizona (and Kyle) eventually.
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