Vicky Jacobsen | Wednesday, January 18, 2012
There are three cardinal rules of newspaper writing: don’t make stuff up, don’t misspell names, and don’t focus on yourself — nobody picks up the paper to read about the reporters. Well I’m going to break that last rule and write a vapid, self-absorbed column all about me, or more specifically, my four most irrational fears. Though no one ever asked me for them, here are a few of my least favorite things:
Crumbs. They disgust me. Maybe because they attract bugs. Maybe because they stick to your bare feet. Maybe because it’s almost impossible to identify the food from which they originated. Whatever the reason, I would rather go jog around a graveyard at night than dig under the backseats of a minivan. If you ever see me eating a granola bar over the sink, now you know why.
Rob Pattinson. Remember when you couldn’t enter a Wal-Mart or bookstore without running into a life-size cutout of Edward Cullen? I can’t tell you how many times I was momentarily petrified, terrified that I had walked into a predatory meth addict before realizing it was just a promotional poster. While I’d like to blame all of the world’s evils on Twilight, I thought Pattinson looked like a sinister porcelain doll even during his Cedric Diggory days.
Crying. Intellectually, I know crying is a normal part of humanity, but it still freaks me out. When I see people cry I’m overwhelmed with the urge to make them feel better and panicked since I don’t know how. (I even start panicking when people cry in movies. Weird, I know.) I don’t mind little kids crying because they’re usually just tired or hungry, but when people over the age of eight cry there’s usually a problem that Teddy Grahams alone can’t solve. Maybe one day I’ll become more emotionally mature than a preteen boy, but until then I’ll probably keep hyperventilating when others tear up.
South Dining Hall. You SDH loyalists can keep your apple slices — your dining hall is chaotic and dark. You may find it ridiculous that NDH-ers claim seats before getting food, but unless you happen to be eating with a redhead who is over six feet tall there’s no way you’re going to find the rest of your group without awkwardly circling the dining room for five minutes. I don’t need that kind of stress with my meals. I’ve heard people say North Dining Hall reminds them of a nursing home. Well I can think of much scarier things.
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The views expressed in the Inside Column are those of the author and not necessarily those of The Observer.