Beware, Tours!

I try to be on my best behavior when tours are coming by, I swear. But for some reason I always seem to do something embarrassing right when they pass by. I am the ideal student to keep in a closet when prospective students are walking around.

My first mishap occurred during the second week of school. While walking with one of those people whom I met in the first few weeks and have never seen again, I was telling a story. The end of the story was a string of expletives. I unleashed them with flourish; there is nothing I love more than telling stories. I looked up to see a crowd of people huddled around a statue. There is only one reason a bunch of people would be standing around a statue on a college campus: ritual hazing or tour groups. Since there were middle-aged people there, I assumed it was the latter. One mother was staring at me, mouth literally agape. The tour guide shot me a dirty look. Knowing that I was being scrutinized, I was unable to change my pace. I avoided eye contact and moved slowly by the group learning about why they should apply to the college of the foul-mouthed miscreants.

The latest incident with a tour group involved a rope swing. Sometime during the orientation week of school, someone incompetent at swinging broke the swing hanging from a tree in the freshman quad. But only one side of it. The rope was frayed significantly, so re-tying it meant making the swing higher. It now sits about four and a half feet above the ground. After passing the swing several times a day for weeks, I was determined that I would enjoy the swinging pleasures. Spontaneously, I put my bag down against the swing's tree and contemplated the swing. I pulled on the wood plank that acts as a seat; it shifts around, so I couldn't use it to propel myself up. I grabbed one side of the swing and threw my legs around the plank. I think tried to shimmy my way upwards and get myself into a sitting position. Instead, I tangled my foot in the rope, let go in surprise, and hung upside-down from the tree. My head was on the ground, actually, because of the height of the swing. As I tried to fish my ankle out of the rope without falling and fracturing my spine (my dignity was already beyond repair), a heard the sound I dreaded most: a projector.

You can tell a tour guide from the way he sounds. You can hear him from two blocks away discussing the historical merits of this chunk of sidewalk or statue or building. I affectionately call these tour guides "the projectors." I knew the group would come around the tree and spot me at any moment; I was in the middle of campus. As he came to me, he paused briefly before deciding to ignore me. He put his back to me and began rambling; this meant that the group, rather than looking at him, watched me struggle to free myself. I have represented my college, supposedly full of the best and the brightest, very well: we can't even figure out how to get onto a swing.

So, here's what I have to say to everyone going through college tours: just because one person looks like a dumbass doesn't mean they all are. I swear.