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The Greyhound

The Greyhound

The Greyhound

Etiquette…Ah, Forget It


Oh, my fellow Greyhounds, I have spent the last … however amount of time attempting to teach you. To better you. To mold you into something that someone’s parents might conceivably want to have dinner with. I have given of myself. I have worked so hard. But now I must confess something to you, my dear readers.

I don’t care anymore! And it’s amazing!

I have spent the last twenty-one years of my life armed with an incredible ability to complain, nitpick and generally have ridiculously high standards. I have rolled my eyes at slow walkers, twitched a little bit at boys who wear their hats in class and come this close to delivering twenty minute lectures to anyone who stays talking on their phone while they’re in the bathroom. But no more, Loyola. You’re on your own. Burns OUT!

… I have just been informed that this article is nowhere near long enough for publication. Also, when I told them that I stopped caring, Kate and Kelly both laughed so hard that they lapsed into brief comas. (I think. Full disclosure, I don’t know what a coma looks like.) So let’s pad this thing out. You want some tips? Here are some tips. Go forth and make the world weird, kiddos.

Eye contact. Make it. All the time.

What’s more important than eye contact, right? Always be making eye contact with someone while you’re talking. Don’t break it. This way they’ll know that you’re trying to connect with their soul. And later, when you’re Snapchatting them close-ups of your face in the dark, illuminated only by the washed-out front flash, stare straight into the camera. Never let go.

Noise: Everyone loves it

“Inside voice”? Psh, yeah, whatever. That stuff’s for suckers. ABY—Always Be Yelling. Library, classroom that staircase that leads to nowhere in Jenkins. You’ll never lose an argument if you’re always the loudest. Buy a pair of those headphones with the speakers on them and blast some drone metal throughout campus. If it sounds like the agonized, plaintive wail of an industrial refrigerator staging a long, drawn out death from some kind of Victorian era respiratory illness, you’re doing it right.

Cut in line

Not subtly. Be blatant about it. Be proud. It proves that you are an assertive rebel who doesn’t care about “society’s rules.” When someone calls you out on it, make some more eye contact. Don’t say anything. Maybe start breathing a little bit heavier than normal. Just keep staring at them and see how they react.

When you’re done, come report your findings to me. I’ve always been curious. You know where to find me, I’ll be around.



Just nap wherever

Sleepy? Just go ahead and lie down in the hall by the post office. You’re way too tired to make it to a bench. People will walk around you, and they will respect your siesta game.

Start every sentence with “I’m not racist, but…”

I’m not racist, but can I have a French fry? I’m not racist, but mushrooms are a fungus, not a vegetable. I’m not racist, but the capital of Canada is Ottawa.

I’m not racist, but starting any sentence with that automatically makes me stop listening to you. Doofus.

When you have perfectly healthy legs, take the elevator to the second floor

Yeah, buddy. You did so many things today. And things require energy, energy you don’t have time to spend going up a single flight of stairs. You need your strength for your all-night Netflix marathons, by God.

Forget everything I just told you. Fold this newspaper into a paper airplane. Have a paper airplane race with your friends.

Now that would be awesome.

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Etiquette…Ah, Forget It