Still haunted by O-Week memories
My first year of university started off with a "pop," because a "bang" would likely have been too loud for Western. Orientation Week has been built up since high school graduation, where parents, teachers and friends all tend to agree on one thing: "Frosh Week is the best time of your life at school." Well, to them I would now respond, "I guess you didn't go to Western."
Frosh Week was the worst week of the year. The entire week had the feel of summer camp, where the kids stayed out in the sun too long and cheered too loud for no apparent reason ("woohoo, I live in Westminster") and ate lousy cafeteria food. Who the hell is expected to wake up every morning when a "soph" tells them to? "Wake up, frosh! Time to fuck the dog for another whole day!"
Why on earth would the sophs tell me that drinking isn't encouraged during Frosh Week? Let's face it: the only thing that could've made any of those activities fun would have been booze. And as much as they won't admit it, the sophs weren't having the greatest time either. When I ran into a soph on an elevator, he told me he wasn't allowed to sleep due to his need to be up all night patrolling the building. I can't say I envied him one bit.
What's up with a no-guest policy in residence? If I spent five years of high school working a part-time job to make money to come here, the least you can do is let me see the few friends I have.
I'm going to cut this short and say that if I had to relive any week of the year, the last one I would pick is the first.