Out of all the things that are different from high school that serve to separate the freshmen out of the well-versed student body like M&M's in a bowl of skittles-nearly the same at a quick glance, with just that odd sense that "something" is not..quite..right- the lanyards that they give you that very first day of Orientation are what give you away. "Well, this is great!", you think to yourself. "What a clever way to keep my ID, keys, and show school spirit!"
And for that first week, you're learning all the tricks, how to twirl the lanyard so that it so tenderly wraps around your hand without getting your face smacked by your keys, how to fold the fabric "just so" which forms a compact bundle capable of fitting in every pocket- the exception of some skinny jeans, but hey, that's what backpacks are for anyways! In that cozy bubble made up entirely of "young adults" and their carefully selected orientation leaders, everything is fine and dandy: the sun is out, it's still technically summer-so no homework!- and everyday you learn a new secret tradition.
Soon, you realize that the little fish bowl you're in is nonexistent and that the other (older, much taller) "fish" who start to move back in are here to stay. And you are encroaching on their territory. But, I digress, it isn't nearly that thrilling. But at 5 feet, running into members of the basketball team is actually a daily hazard to my life since both parties are caught unawares. For anything above 5'10", I'm just not visible in their line of sight, which results in the assumption that I'm not there. From my perspective, I'm just walking - with my headphones in...just jamming - and all of the sudden, there is a body approaching whose eyes don't even register my presence. Collisions and apologies ensue.
Granted, I'm not the most observant person, but what makes these accidents all the worse is the disorientation they produce. All of the sudden, I'm facing a different direction and in my efforts to get away from the long line of athletes to avoid further casualties, I've taken several strides off my automated trajectory. I find myself trying to command the figurative battleship on manual. Which- let me just save you the suspense- isn't easy. Thankfully, the figurative lifeboats come with flares...in the form of that lanyard. Yes. Recognizing that I have that bright, spirited piece of fabric which waves to upperclassmen like a white flag of surrender, a former orientation leader comes to my rescue.
Having arrived at my destination safely, the same drone of "Name, Year, Hometown" rings through each classroom. What comes unexpectedly, however, is the kind inquiry of "Are you a freshman?" and the obligatory agreement - what? I'm not a liar! - which leads to a puzzling aftermath. You see, the confidence that exudes from upperclassmen makes one wonder just what tipped them off.
It only takes a couple of weeks to figure it out though: it's the lanyard. As freshmen, most of us haven't figured out how long it takes to get adequately ready and dressed for the day (so we appear presentable to society), so we leave the dorm with our backpacks thrown on. And those friendly lanyards wave at every passerby from their position in our pants' back-pocket.
Moral of this long and somewhat pointless anecdote: Beware the power of the lanyard. It's like the "One True Ring"; in many ways useful, but carelessly leaving it on your person can draw unwanted attention.
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