To high school all-stars across America who are blessed with intelligence and popularity, Penn is a beacon of hope. Our alleged "work hard, play hard" motto makes Van Pelt sound like Van Wilder. In reality, there is indeed a bit of that Mean Girls vibe outside good ol' VP. Since Penn Dining sucks, don't expect us to pair off in a cafeteria - the Green is more our style. So grab your Hemo's sandwich or Magic Carpet tofu meatballs, and meet us on the Green.
Get out your burn books - here's how it works, girls. On the benches by Van Pelt's eastern edge, nothing says "love" like awkward romantics being harassed by squirrels and the homeless. And with spring approaching, the couples are out more than ever. If it works out, maybe they'll make it over to the Button by nightfall.
If you do in fact make it past the Button, you'll be greeted with the traffic of gangly teenage prospects and West Philly schoolchildren on an admissions tour being guided through campus by Penn's finest.
But alas, if you're ever on a bible shortage while walking to Van Pelt, have no fear! God's children, taking on the form of crazy preacher men, always seem to find their way to campus, spreading the love to all us Quakers. No one seems to know where they come from or exactly what they're so pissed about, but these people will talk you up until you're running to VP, screaming for the stacks.
For something even more absurd, Penn has tightrope walkers? Really?
Make your way to Van Pelt's western edge, where a long garden-like enclave is conducive to recluse types, often eating alone with oversized, noise canceling headphones.
Continue on toward the library's entrance, and enter: the Green's main grassy patch, where the popular kids tend to congregate. Here, find established members of the Greek community, pledges and overall, Penn's mainstream population, situating themselves (obviously) in the middle of the universe.
As you move further from the center, find those who prefer to hang on the edges, far enough from the library to be secluded, but close enough to mock/secretly admire everyone else. Hippies play guitar or hacky sack or something, stoners play with rolling papers and burn outs play with themselves.
Cross back over to the library's entrance and encounter Penn's best and brightest: the bench smokers, who say they're just "taking a study break," but end up burning through two hours and a pack of Parliaments. And, alas, not to be confused with the run-of-the-mill smokers, are the Eurotrash, who smoke too, but in leather jackets, and sunglasses, and tight pants.
