Dear people of the world that happen to be reading buzz right now,
There comes a time every year where I, Rima Parikh, the notoriously antisocial socialite, feel the need for human company. There’s something about the dreariness of February that makes me feel solidarity with my peers, and suddenly, I hate people much less than I normally do.
Thus, I decide to actually try talking to people in my classes, instead of brooding in the corner by myself. The only issue with this is that a) it’s sooo much effort and b) my existence is generally kind of mortifying; so things don’t always pan out perfectly. Much like the introduction to this week’s column, I can be a little bit awkward, abrupt, and jagged. Though sometimes, I think it works for me.
Here’s how trying to talk to people went down for me.
Day 1:
10:00 am: Starts first class. Becomes cognizant of resting bitchface. Resting bitchface covers actual face. Actual face is bitchier bitchface. Problematic because people allegedly don’t want to be friends with bitches.
12:15 pm: Walks into class and sees a high school friend. Automatic class friend, so ten points for Rima.
1:44 pm: New class. Runs into girl. Girl and I have mutual friend. Boom! Friend by default, so ten more points for Rima. Rima is feeling like she has enough points; the need for socializing further diminishes.
9:42 pm: Decides to make socializing plan-of-action for next day’s class, despite previous thoughts. Must branch out and be more people efficient. Hermit life must cease.
9:44 pm: Huddles in corner wearing bootleg Snuggie. Solemnly eats cold pizza from two weeks ago. Pizza had green olives and jalapenos. Crust less garlic-y than anticipated. Pizza fails.
9:58 pm: Remembers original goal of plan-of-action. Personifies Snuggie and talks to it. Calls it Edna. Forgets to make social plan. Fuck it.
Day 2:
10: 47 am: Boy tells me he saw me at frat, and was going to say hi. He said, “You left.” Would’ve been fine had I looked reasonably personable. Actually was in corner sipping on canned fratboy piss while glaring at everyone. Started reading the news at some point. Did not conceal disillusionment with society as drunk-bitch spilled on my blazer.
2:53 pm: Boy next to me in English class. Instructor reading poem stanzas, which are describing some chick’s rack. I snicker. He also snickers. Shared laughter over aforementioned rack probably means that we’re soulmates. Never actually share words, though. Problematic, slightly. 9:30 pm: Mental recap of day concludes in a realization that this people thing is taking too damn long. Fatigue strikes. Angst strikes.
9:40 pm: Considers locking door and writing bad poetry while wistfully looking out the window into the depths of the dark, unforgiving night, but then decides, “naaaah.”
Day 3:
Arrive to class late. Sitting behind boy instead of next to him, where I was yesterday. HOUSTON, WE HAVE REGRESSED. I REPEAT, WE HAVE REGRESSED. Currently staring at his back, which is some sixth grade shit. However, back is toned. Bonus point for Rima?
Bonus point for Rima.
2:11 pm: There are twelve people in this classroom. Twelve people in this room are also incredibly awkward. Exchange student is seemingly less awkward. Also foreign, therefore automatically attractive. Channels the whole “grungy/angsty/disillusioned/perpetually stoned” vibe. Digging it. Ninety-seven percent sure I’m probably never going to talk to him during the semester. But still, almost considers sending memo to “study abroad in me anytime.”
2:12 pm: Remembers why I’m still single.
10:11 pm: Daily introspective reflection. Realizes that three days of making an effort are kind of enough. Crawls into blanket and makes cocoon. Remains in cocoon. Currently in cocoon as we speak.
10:30 pm: End of people phase. Regresses back into darkness. Content once again.
And those, my friends, were my social journey over the course of three earth-shaking days. I’m proud to say that I still don’t actually talk to anyone in my classes, and I’ve reverted back to glaring at everyone for no apparent reason. I’ve reaffirmed my distaste for everyone, and I find that beautiful. I hope my awe-inspiring tale changed your life profoundly. If not, fuck you.
Love,
Rima Parikh