Frosh Week: Round II

Day one:

At dawn we rise.

"Frosh Week is coming," whisper the Frosh leaders, as we wait for the 7:30 am meeting in the Junior Common Room. "Frosh week is here," interrupts Anthony, our head frosh leader. With his partner, Sam, he tells us to get our positions.

The frosh arrive with parents in tow. I duck out of the way of a mother trying to get a picture of a frosh posing by the bust of John Strachan, which is difficult when carrying a mini-fridge, an ironing board, a magic bullet and a dehumidifier.

Awkward lunch lived up to adequate levels of awkwardness. I do a brief survey of the crowd. 75 percent are in International Relations, 50 percent of those are in Trin One, and 25 percent of those want to work for the United Nations. Out of those frosh, one hundred percent are wearing boat shoes.

I pour five shots of vodka into my coffee. The Frosh don't seem to understand the appeal of 400 Crispy Cream donuts at Space Jam, but the frosh leaders do. In Welch that night, the frosh manage to go through a keg in an hour, embarrassing our year's initial efforts with alcohol. I pour some rum into my Steam Whistle.

Day Two:

Academic orientation, sex-ed, and alcohol policies. I laugh bitterly as I remember how convinced I was that I wouldn't procrastinate on my Trin One assignments, get drunk, and drunkenly compromise my reputation.

I pour some Red Bull into my Gatorade. Melinda Seaman Space Jam is a perfect combination of awkward lunch and DJ Rau's music selection. I pour whisky into a Trin water bottle.

Day Three:

The Frosh are declaring an uprising. During the quad debate, they are puzzled about why the Lit doesn’t debate Syria and whisper, "who is Kaleem Hawa? I don't get it.”

One frosh thinks this is an opportune time to declare a rebellion. Needless to say, his peers are too dazed and confused to follow his lead. Then a frosh clamours, "I thought clubs fair was a club crawl!" I pour some sarcasm into a glass of watered down iced tea. During the reception following matriculation, I network with the mayonnaise sandwiches and the graham crackers while frosh network with Mayo Moran and Bill Graham.

Day Four:

A frosh asks me if "pre-U of T" is a university wide pre-drink. I would go to charity Karaoke, but I have lost my sense of charity with my voice, my energy, and my dignity.

Day Five:

I pour half a bottle of perfume onto my frosh leader shirt as I brace myself for the parade. Pierre Kochel - adorned in his Bishop garb - is the perfect combination of irreverence and badassery to which every Trinity student should aspire. In the Varsity fields, we are situated beside St Michael’s College. Unfortunately, despite their historical affiliation with the Catholic Church, they do not seem to understand what a Bishop is.

The Trinity frosh leaders effectively contain the red tide of frosh, preventing them from high-fiving the UTSU infiltrators around the circuit who trade drinking water for first year souls.

When I was a first year having dinner rolls hurled at me during the Dean’s dinner, I dreamed of bestowing the same honour upon the incoming class. All of the 1T7s now feel awesome about not completely being the worst year ever: despite our shortcomings, we never once hosted a party called "yoga hoes and work out bros."

As the thunder rolls in, preventing the frosh from go-karting, the leaders already are preparing for Kappa Alpha's Luau. I put on last year’s lei, utter a brief prayer for the first year girls who will experience KA's washrooms for the first time, and pour a margarita into my jungle juice.

Day Six:

This one time, on camp day, I try to survive off a half cooked hamburger patty and a diet coke while recovering from the effects of last night's margarita and jungle juice. When we return, it is time for the frosh play, which was a runaway success, evident by the awkward, confused laughs of first years who still whisper, "Who is Kaleem Hawa? I don't get it." Then, toga party, the highlight of frosh week: the moment I had been waiting for since I was barred from entry in my first year. For those unclear, please review the Trinity College alcohol policy. It fully lived up to a year's worth of expectations. Despite accidentally pouring an orange juice cocktail - mixed expertly by Kaleem - onto my fashionable bed sheets, in the end, toga was almost toga(ood) to be true.

Day Seven:

On the seventh day, we rest. I feel old and bitter and jaded. Then I stop feeling old and bitter and jaded, because I imagine how former Salterrae Senior Copy editor Emily Jennings must be feeling, waking up with her fifth toga hangover. Doing everything again can bring back memories of your first ups and downs at this college; of naive optimism, and awkwardness. It also reminded me of the moments, even if they were fleeting at the time, of when I met my best friends - many of whom I was fortunate enough to celebrate frosh week with one year later. Most importantly, I finally made it to toga party. I pour myself a celebratory glass of champagne and wonder if September is too early to line up for Bubbly.