Immediately after I graduated college, people kept asking me how it felt. "How does it feel to be graduated? How does it feel to be unemployed? How does it feel that you're required to be a real-life adult now?"
To be honest, it felt the same. For the month after graduation, I was still living in my college house with my best friend, facing simple dilemmas, like "Is this salsa so expired that we can't eat it still?" or "Is it too late to start interacting with the hot hipsters next door?" (The answer to both questions was no, by the way). In fact, the first time I realized that I graduated wasn't when I was involved in a large group text involving snacks at our school-wide ceremony or when I successfully walked across the stage without falling at CCIM commencement or even afterward at my graduation party, where we all played vigorous rounds of Slap Cup and my parents looked on, slightly horrified that they'd paid for four years of college for me to accurately learn the delicate skill of flipping a red Solo cup. No, at none of those times had it hit me that I was finished with college. It wasn't until the Wednesday night after commencement that I realized I had actually graduated.
I realized that at Dill Street.
For those of you that don't go to Ball State, it's hard for me to express the type of bar that Dill Street is. The best that I can do is that it's a dance club in Muncie's Village, it's not actually located on Dill Street anymore and on more than one occasion, my friend Taylor's foot came out of her shoe because it was stuck to the sticky ground. Also, it is where I could be found on most Thursday, Friday, Saturday (and the occasional Wednesday) nights.
The sticky floor at Dill Street comes from the fact that on Wednesday's, any drink was $1.50, leading most text conversations on Wednesday afternoons to start with "Dolla Fifties!?!" and most Thursday morning messages to begin with some version of "I'm sorry for [blank] last night..." from a good proportion of Ball State's student population. I wasn't able to make a large amount of Dolla Fifties in college because I was in charge of a lot of design things that happened on weeknights, so after I graduated, I was ready to drink (for cheap!) with all of the people that frequented Dill Street on Wednesdays.
Which, it turned out, after graduation, was no one.
The moment I realized I had graduated college was when I walked into Dill Street expecting the hundreds of people that normally crowded the dance floor and instead, found myself alone in the bar, save for the two friends I came with and four people doing karaoke and shots by themselves in a corner.
Me, shortly after realizing I had actually graduated college. Note that, despite the lack of people, my shoes still stuck to the floor. Love ya, Dill Street.
On my last day in Muncie, I went to AJ, the building that I spent the most amount of time by far in during college to say goodbye to professors, the Holden Center and all the cashiers in the Atrium that I'd developed close, if not unhealthy, relationships with, when I was once again asked what graduating felt like. Save for that moment at Dill Street, it still didn't feel much different, but my journalism professor Ryan Sparrow told me to just wait until August. When all the students started coming back and I was still working -- then, it would hit me.
On principle, I only believe about 75% of things that Ryan tells me ever since he convinced me that a place called "EAT" was actually a fancy hotel when we were in London in 2012, (it was clearly a restaurant), but I believed him about this. And, this week, he was proven right. It once again hit me that I had graduated college when all of my younger friends were partying on roofs during Welcome Week and I was sitting cross-legged in bed, drinking mini boxed wine, eating Goldfish and watching re-runs of "The Mindy Project."*
So, in honor of me once again realizing that I actually have to be an adult and will not be returning to college (except for Homecoming, because, CHIRP CHIRP, y'all!) and in honor of all my small child friends beginning school today, here are four things that I learned in college.
*For the record, I am not complaining -- that is a fabulous way to spend a night and I highly recommend it to all of you. Plus, I woke up the next morning and was two pounds lighter, so it's a win-win. Or, our scale is broken. Whatever.
1. Not everyone will show you respect...
...And, the person who will show you the least respect could be your Economics professor. At Ball State, it's required for all journalism majors to take a class called Econ 247, focusing on the important economic issues that we may have to report on in the journalism field, but also, I suspect, to make sure that we actually know some sort of math before graduating. (Economics is a hard class to begin with, but especially for journalism majors because, yes, we chose our major because we love to write and inform people of the news, but also because we are very, very bad at math). In a move not recommended to any underclass journalism majors, I waited until my very last semester at Ball State to take this course, meaning that I absolutely, 100% had to pass it with a 75% to graduate. Luckily, I had Econ at the same time that my friend Zach had Math 125, a class that he also had to pass in order to graduate in May, so we would spend most Tuesday and Thursday mornings texting and convincing each other it was imperative to get out of bed to make it to our 9:30 class.
Zach and Jen: the poster children for taking the hardest class of your college career during your last semester. Also, Dill Street's biggest fans.
My Econ professor's name was Shang and honestly, Shang was bewildered by us. To put it in perspective, he had only ever taught Economics majors before, so when he was faced with a classroom full of journalism students, he had no idea where to begin. Because of this, we learned mean, median and mode for a month and a half and he thought we were the smartest kids that have ever existed. But, when he began to teach us concepts that we hadn't learned in the fifth grade, he became upset that we weren't grasping them as well. All of his frustration with us was pent up until he absolutely exploded on the day that is now known (and infamously recorded on Twitter) as #ShangGoesBerserk.
The morning started with all of us handing in the day's homework and ended with half of our class of 40 walking out in the middle of the hour in disgust. To summarize the event, our homework had been determining the difference between micro and macro economics and, when a girl raised her hand to ask which one Shang was currently explaining, he basically lost it.
In a fit of frustration, Shang threw his chalkboard eraser at the door and proclaimed "Don't ask stupid questions! Try to come up with good ones!" Everyone's mouths opened in shock, two students walked out of the room and a Twitter hashtag was born.
The next ten minutes were filled with wide-eyed looks and silence as Shang continued to explain economics, though none of us knew whether it was micro and macro and dared not to ask. When he said, "Does anyone have any questions?," I actually let out a semi-silent, strained laugh, because after what had just happened, no one was going to ask anything. It was a short sound, but Shang heard it and as he held my gaze for over ten seconds, I felt compelled to say, "I'm sorry, sir, I don't have any questions."
Because of that, this happened:
As I stood up and gathered my things along with 15 of my classmates, I informed Shang that I'd never been so disrespected in my life. Then, my 15 classmates exited out of the right door of the classroom while I attempted to leave out of the left, but to Shang's horror, couldn't get the door open for at least 30 seconds, making it the most un-epic, yet hilarious walk-out that has ever happened.
I had to return to Econ 247, though Shang was clearly not a fan of our journalistically and social-media savvy class, seeing as our tweets had immediately drawn the attention of the Economics Department and before the class session was even over, he'd been reported. To say that the relationship between students and professor was strained would be an understatement, but in the end and likely because Shang never wanted to see me again, I passed the class with exactly a 75%.
However, because of this experience, economics is not one of the things I learned in college.
2. Pick your friends (and pizza men) wisely.
On the first night I ever went to 1112 Rex Street, a Cousin Vinny's pizza delivery man knocked on the door, holding ten pizzas. This was wonderful, yet confusing, because none of us had ordered pizza. The delivery man saw our confusion and cleared it up, announcing that he had these as extras in the back of his car, saw we were having a party and knocked, hoping to sell each box for $10. Within three minutes, he was $100 richer.
Being in the same room as $100 worth of pizza was clearly a significant moment in my life, but it was an even more important night because that is when I became friends with some of the best people I've ever met. On that night, I somehow squeezed my way into their tightly-knit friend group and have since found myself surrounded by the talented, funny and genuinely wonderful people that I call my friends. From that moment on, I spent all of my time sophomore year on Rex Street and most of my best college (and post-grad) memories are with the people that either lived (or, like me, practically lived) in that house, playing games, having rap battles, taking ridiculous videos, and, of course, eating pizza. Although the boys moved out of 1112 Rex in May 2012 and I never actually paid rent at that location, I'd bet that if I called Cousin Vinny's right now, they'd still be convinced that it was my address.
Me, on my last day in Muncie, sadly saying goodbye to the house that was basically my home sophomore year. It should be said that when this photo was taken, the boys had not lived there since 2012 and I did not know who currently lived in the house, so I'm sure they were at least slightly concerned by the girl in the sun hat practically crying on their porch.
Rest assured, the reason Cousin Vinny's probably still thinks I live at 1112 Rex is not because I haven't ordered a pizza since 2012 -- it's because in college, we always ordered pizza from my best friend Allie's phone. To be honest, I'm not sure if pizza deliverers loved or hated when we, the inhabitants of 1320 Woodridge, called Cousin Vinny's because it was always a toss-up on what kind of behavior they were going to get. Once, Allie tipped the delivery woman $10, solely because she had nice hair, yet another time, we fell asleep before the pizza was delivered, leading us to wake up in the morning to 22 missed calls from a concerned deliverer. On multiple occasions and for no apparent reason, we'd invite the pizza man inside our home at 2 a.m. to share a slice with us and, while most of them refused, one stayed for such an absurdly long amount of time that I double-checked the locks on all our doors that night. In one of the most memorable pizza instances, Allie once ordered a pizza, then ten minutes later, forgot she'd ordered said pizza and called again, leading the same confused delivery man to bring two pizzas to our home within a half hour of each other. (We invited him inside both times, but he declined, clearly because he thought we were insane).
In the same way that I was so lucky to find such a fun friend group in college, I learned that I was also beyond lucky to have a best friend like Allie. Co-dependant to the point that we were known as JALLIE, she was there for me through all of my good times, but more importantly, my bad ones, supporting me through any situation, whether it be an issue with a boyfriend of mine that she didn't even like or my irrational fear of the ghost that lived in our home sophomore year that caused me to sleep in her room for three months. Basically, she's the best person ever.
Now, while actually graduating didn't feel much different than being a college student, the weeks leading up to graduation were terrifying. Nothing had changed yet, but the pressure and build-up of knowing that everything is about to was absolutely overwhelming and very hard to articulate. Everyone that has their graduation day looming closer understands this and for me and Allie, this feeling culminated a few weeks before our graduation -- after a night of Dolla Fifties when we decided to order pizza.
Typically, whenever Allie and I ordered pizza, we would sit on my gigantic bean bag in front of our front door and talk until the delivery came. This night was no different, but as we began to talk about graduation and real-life and us leaving each other, we both began to sob.
Uncontrollably.
For 20 straight minutes.
When the doorbell rang to signal that our pizza had arrived, neither of us could either a) stop crying or b) get off the bean bag due to said crying -- so, when we reached up and opened the door, the pizza man was greeted by two inconsolable girls who literally could not make it off the floor and cried the entire time we were signing the check. He was very nice about the situation, saying that he too was graduating, so he knew how it felt, which only made us cry harder.
To be nice, we invited him inside. Understandably, he did not accept.
The last photo of me and Allie taken on Halloween before we attempted to text Cousin Vinny's to deliver us a pizza. As it turns out, Cousin Vinny's does not have a texting option. This is a thing I learned in college.
3. Growing up means applying to jobs on Spring Break.
For my senior year Spring Break, I went to New Orleans with six great friends, where we explored the French Quarter, drank far too many Hand Grenades and, on one remarkable occasion, got so lost at 3 a.m. that a police officer picked us up and hand-delivered us in the back of a cop car to the house where we were staying. It was a great time and, seeing as most of us had never been to New Orleans before, it was quite the adventure and the perfect way to begin the end of our senior year.
On the morning we were getting ready to make the 14 hour drive back to Muncie, I woke up at 9 a.m. and, out of habit, checked my email. Being in charge of a vast amount of Ball State's designers led me to refresh my email multiple times an hour, but early in the morning on the last day of Spring Break, I wasn't really expecting a multitude of messages. In fact, I only found one email in my inbox, but, as it would turn out, it was an email that actually changed my life.
Lori Byers is the Associate Dean of CCIM and one of my favorite human beings. Ball State's College of Communication, Information and Media would not be the same without her passion, drive and genuine care and interest for all of the students involved in the communication fields. I'm always happy to run into her and, on that early morning in Louisiana, sharing a bed with my two, fast-asleep roommates, I was pleasantly surprised to see that she'd sent me an email. When I clicked on it, I realized that it didn't say much -- just "FYI" and a link.
It was a posting for a six-month internship at The Boston Globe.
The second after I clicked on the link, all I knew was that it was imperative for me to find Wifi and apply for this opportunity. Immediately. I woke up both my roommates as I hurriedly packed, updated my resume and searched frantically on my phone for the closest location with free Wifi access.
From this experience, I learned that, although Spring Break is supposedly the week that college students are the least responsible, growing up means that it can transform into the moment you are most responsible and can change your entire career. I've also learned that having faculty as incredible as CCIM's is a gift that shouldn't be taken lightly. Without Lori's "FYI" email, I may not have ever known about The Boston Globe internship and I will always be grateful for her input on my future.
4. You do you.
Before I begin with the last thing that I learned in college, it should be noted that I hate the phrase "You do you" and usually only use it when Allie and I are in one of our very rare arguments and passive-aggressively texting, but I couldn't think of a better subhead to describe what I'm about to say.
Before I was a freshman in college, I never dreamed I would join a sorority. In fact, the only reason that I even went through recruitment freshman year is because I had exactly one friend at both Ball State and Washington State and, when I made the decision to go to Muncie, my Tri-Delt friend at WSU made me promise to at least try going Greek. Which, is how I found myself freshman year surrounded by sorority girls in matching T-shirts, chanting and clapping and asking me the same types of questions for four straight days.
Recruitment is a very overwhelming experience.
There's a lot of reasons to join a sorority, but I honestly joined Kappa Delta because, not only did I really relate with the girls I was meeting, I absolutely loved their philanthropy. Kappa Delta takes part in the Confidence Coalition, a movement dedicated to helping girls (and women!) realize that they are all beautiful inside and out and to stand up for themselves confidently. Working with the Girl Scouts, another one of Kappa Delta's philanthropies, we worked on re-instating this confidence into younger girls, showing them that they can do anything, and they, in turn, helped us see that we could too. It's impossible not to fall in love with an organization that's dedicated to installing confidence in young women and, although there were times that being in a sorority was definitely not easy for me, it was a decision that really did fulfill my college experience.
After being a Kappa Delta for four years, I learned that it's absolutely necessary for me to make the decisions that don't necessarily make me feel the most comfortable, but challenge me in the ways that I need to in order to see change and growth. For example, before I graduated, I had applied for exactly two jobs for my post-graduate career -- one was for a well-paying company in New York. The other was at The Boston Globe.
I'd been offered the position at the New York job and wasn't intensely interested in the opportunity, but had yet to hear back from The Globe and on a Friday in late April, I was going through what could only be described as a quarter-life crisis. I locked myself inside the executive office in the Holden Center as I cried, then called my mother, my father, then Allie. I described to them how much I wanted the position at The Globe and didn't want to take the job in New York, but felt idiotic turning down a well-paying job when I didn't yet have anything else lined up. They all responded that I needed to do what felt right for me and although I knew what I had to do, I didn't feel ready to make that decision quite yet -- so I went and locked myself inside my adviser Dan's office, along with my boss, Brian and professor, Ryan. After speaking with the three of them about my situation, (who, it should be noted, care as much for their students well-being and careers as much as Lori... CCIM is a lucky college), I re-locked myself in the executive office, called my parents (and Allie) one more time, then got the confidence to write a rejection letter to the company in New York. When I unlocked myself out of the office late that Friday afternoon, I had turned down the New York job and had absolutely no idea what I was doing with my future.
Early Monday morning, I got the job offer from The Boston Globe.
After four years of confidence building workshops and teaching numerous lessons to Girl Scouts about the importance of making the right decision, it was still hard for me to make the decision that I knew was right for me. But, without the support of my family, friends, sisters and professors I met in college, I'm pretty sure that I'd actually be more similar to a lost puppy than the human being I currently am. I'm so lucky to have learned the importance of "you do you" (it should be known I'm in physical pain out of disgust for actually using that phrase un-ironically), and I know that because of the lessons I've learned in college, I have been changed for good.
That was literally the most cheesy way I've ever ended anything I've ever written (and, last week, I ended a blog post by quoting a One Direction song, so that's really saying something), so here is another way that I expressed the confidence I learned in college: the time I completely disregarded the theme to Kappa Delta's Country Club Informal and dressed up as Macklemore instead:
I spent most of the night frantically telling everyone that the ceiling couldn't hold us. Spoiler alert: it could.