So you're a freshman. You just survived NSO, but you're still walking in a pack, calling your parents twice a day, and desperately grasping for club meetings to attend - let's face it: you're clueless.
Or maybe you're a hardened upperclassmen who's more likely to be recognized by the overnight security guards at Rosengarten than the bouncers at Smoke's. Either way, we here at Street are looking out for you and have compiled this trusty insiders' guide to life at Penn. At some point in your four years here, you will probably lose your phone, your wallet and your dignity, so don't say we didn't warn you.
At some point in the near future, you'll want to explore Center City. There are a few things you should know before this happens. First, you're going to want a fake ID. Try making friends with an upperclassman who looks like you and gank/ask for his when you get a chance. If that fails, your next best option is to hop on a Chinatown bus ($20 round trip, 11th and Filbert) to New York in order to become "Peter Singer of 5324 W. Queen Street, Toronto, Ontario." $60 is a small price to pay for being able to projectile vomit in Rittenhouse Square. Second, learn how to use a sidewalk. You may think it's OK - which, by the way, it's not - to saunter lazily down Locust Walk during the midday rush hour, four-wide with a coterie of your friends, halting traffic each minute or so to chat with that dude you "totally, like, hooked up with during NSO," but if you pull that kind of shit off Penn's campus, you'll be lucky to escape with just an impolite shoulder check. And last, but certainly not least, avoid credit card tabs at all costs. Cocktails add up quickly, and no matter how cute the stranger you're grinding up on at the bar may be, $246 worth of cosmos and margaritas is never a good idea the next morning. Always pay in cash. And remember, kids: unless you're a fan of weak drinks and slow service, tip your bartender.
Bursar. Say it with me now: Bur, like the seed; Sar, like the crazy Asian disease. Bursaring something works just like your Visa - you swipe your PennCard through a machine and like magic, the charge disappears and becomes your parents' problem. What's more, when the charges show up on your bill they aren't itemized, so it's basically like free money. Want that new iPod? "Bursar, please." Need money for birth control but don't want Mommy and Daddy to know? "Bursar, please." Can't live without season two of The Office on DVD? "Bursar, please."
You'll hear a lot of talk about SEPTA being a fun, clean, convenient, and cheap way to get around Philly. The people who say these things are generally liars who take cabs for any trip over seven blocks. SEPTA is perpetually dirty, never runs on time, and is full of passengers who hail from the less-gentrified areas of your newly adopted city. None of these things -- aside, maybe, from the faint-yet-ever-present scent of urine - are bad. Taking SEPTA is all about learning to embrace your new home for what it is - a magical urban underworld filled with exciting people, disease-carrying rodents and humorously outdated advertisements. Make sure to save the hard-earned interest on your trust fund by purchasing discounted tokens from Houston Hall, The Penn Bookstore, Fresh Grocer, or select SEPTA stations.
Some say the best way to get good grades at Penn is with hard work and a close relationship with your professors and TAs. This is simply not true. It's much easier to just take classes in which there are an inordinate number of athletes and then ride the curve to an effortless A. If you're an athlete, worry not - you can make up for your inferior intellect by sleeping with whomever grades you.
Every eatery worth its salt (and pita bread) delivers. In fact, we suspect that soon Campusfood.com will evolve past the need for human contact altogether. You will just be able to think your orders. We can't wait. Related: it's not the Freshman 15 that you have to worry about. Unless you're a Theta with a heroic coke habit and fashionable case of anorexia to boot, it's the keg parties and late night Greek Lady trips that lead to the little-known sophomore/junior 30. Indifference isn't an excuse, thunder thighs.
As you cruise through Econ 1 this semester surrounded by your polished peers in Wharton, you will probably feel the urge to trade in your cargo shorts for dry-clean-only slacks and plaid shorts for your "biz-cas" days. You will register to take Econ 2 and Math 104 next semester, all the while planning your ascension to Huntsman Hall. We understand. Wharton seems fancy. There's something captivating, maybe even noble, about the way Whartonites don't even try to mask the dollar signs in their eyes and the unfettered douchebaggery in their cold, black hearts. Why not, right? Well, forget it. Somewhere down the line, you'll decide against transferring, and you'll kick yourself for bothering to learn calculus when you could have been studying Baroque architecture or something equally useless. But at least your soul will be intact.
Finding good drugs on Penn's campus is kind of like searching for quality produce at Fro Gro. They're few and far between, outrageously overpriced and always a letdown when you get them home. Skip the Castle, befriend an upperclassman who looks like an extra from Half Baked and ingratiate yourself with their dealer. (We, of course, have our own dealer, but we're not telling you who it is, narc.) With a lot of guidance and a little luck, you can become that guy in the Quad who always has great weed and tons of coke. Trust us, you want to be that guy.
Do you think Jesus is magic, or are you more a fan of Muhammad? Perhaps you're more on the level of a Christopher Hitchens or Richard Dawkins. Regardless of which of these categories you fit into, don't bother going to class on Jewish holidays. They're kind of like parent-teacher conference days in high school, except with a raging hangover. While we're on the subject, you shouldn't go the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, either. Or the Friday before Fall Break. Or at all, really.
When it comes time to score a summer internship, screw resumes and cover letters and look to your friends' parents. If they're from the tri-state area, odds are they have an in at an investment bank or a law firm. If they're international, they probably own hotels. Ka-ching!
So, about those kids you've been hanging out with since NSO - y'know, your new BFFs. Chances are that at some point within the next two-to-six weeks it'll suddenly dawn on you that not only do you not like 90% of them, but you actually loathe the very essence of their being. Don't worry - that's perfectly natural. They're your starter friends; just make sure to exploit your waning acquaintance by poaching all of their friends before your relationship dissolves completely from akwardly passive-aggressive undermining to full-on mutual avoidance. In a month or so, you can even go through your phone and delete all of them. That way it's like they never existed. until you have a class with them and need to steal their notes.
Here's a fun game: Make note of all the abnormalities in your classmates' physical appearances before they leave for home at the end of the spring semester. Then, when everyone comes back sophomore year, figure out who's had work done and keep score amongst your closest friends. In general, it's one point for some type of cosmetic injection, two for a nose job, and three for a new rack. Bonus points go to any player who makes physical confirmation.
Never, under any circumstances, tell us how drunk or high you are. This cannot be stressed enough. Not the night of, not the day after, not even if you are specifically asked what you did on the evening in question. No one cares. Unless you tell us you got dysentery from drinking jungle juice out of a trash can, because we're not above laughing at your absurdly obscure humiliation. Speaking of which, if you do get so drunk that a trip to the hospital seems in order, do not, for the love of all that is holy and sacred on this earth, call an ambulance. Getting dragged down Spruce for 15 minutes before being unceremoniously dumped outside of HUP by your sloppily drunk friends beats footing the $500, 46-second trip any day of the week.
People don't really go on dates here. After a hook-up, consider yourself lucky if the guy/girl even admits to knowing your name. On that note, keep in mind that roughly half of your peers are most likely infected with some manner of sexually-transmitted infection. Even that girl down the hall who carries Purell around all the time. Especially that guy who is on a monthly showering schedule. And if you haven't checked lately, maybe you.
