Disclaimer: I am fully aware that what I am about to write is incredibly superficial and vacuous. So I want you to be aware of it too. If you are easily offended don't go past the italics.
Also, this piece is not a reflection of the author's views. Just of her lack of knowledge about certain people.
Before you go ahead and judge me for saying what I am about to say, do a conscience check and admit to yourself that, in this town, the sad truth of the matter is that we judge books by their covers all the time. Hey, I've been there; have you tried going to the library in hiking boots? Suddenly, you become "hiker girl", and the label sticks with you forever.
To begin with, may I just say that I didn't start out this way. In the beginning, I sought to learn other people's names and remember their faces. This, however, seems to breach the St Andrean norms of conduct, and although I did not wish for this to happen, slowly, my ability to be good with names and faces faded away. Furthermore, seen as there are certain people I began to see all the time, I tried to communicate by eye contact that I would have liked to get to know who they are; in lectures I would sit next to them and smile, which, in my world, is a signal for: "I'd like to start a conversation". Here, it rarely went down well.
With that said, I am hardly to blame for what happened next. You aren't to blame, either. Why, amongst 7000+ students, there should be a set number of people one sees constantly is beyond me, but, alas, such is the case. Some of these individuals overlap amongst friends. So, when one wants to refer to someone you and your friend both know, you naturally have to come up with a code name. Thus, I've accumulated a plethora of code names (pretentious word is courtesy of my pretentious Swedish counterpart).
It began with simple nicknames; "library guy" was perhaps the first to be baptised in our church of ignorance. He was quickly followed by "smooching guy", who ate with his mouth open and smacked his tongue against his palate even when he wasn't eating. He then turned out to be a candidate in the latest student elections...awkward, but at least now we have an actual name for him.
Then there were the code names we had to come up with out of need; when your friend has a stalker and he is about to approach, you have to warn her in some subtle manner. So "Mufasa" came into being, and so did "staring guy" shortly after. Then, there's those people who everyone knows the minute you say their code name (unknowingly shared by the whole student community), such as "The Suit Guys". And, I'm sorry, but when you dress in three-piece, red, velvet suits and take a briefcase to lessons, you're just asking to be labelled as something.
On that note, this past year has been a prolific one for code names. When I was in Barcelona this January, we were walking down the street of our hostel, and my friend pointed out a guy to me: "I bet he goes to St Andrews". The man I am referring to was wearing a plaid blazer with matching trousers, black leather gloves and pointy, shiny shoes, a shirt with ruffles on the front and a handkerchief tucked in his blazer's pocket. He also had massive side burns and stylish Wayfarer sunglasses. "Oh, yes", I told her, "that's 'The Lord'. He's in my English class". We see him regularly; today, he was wearing bright pink socks underneath his impeccable suit.
The library is, inevitably, where most of our code names are borne. Let's begin with those individuals who have gained their labels, not because of their physical attributes, but because of the auras they carry with them; notably, "Old Spice guy" and "smelly balls guy". They are the epitomes at the ends of the spectrum of individuals who come into our radar every day. The latter is a mystery, mostly because I cannot for the life of me think what it is that happens when he sits, legs wide open, and that horrible smell invades the immediate surroundings. Regulars on the first floor are: "ex-boyfriend look-alike" (not mine, someone else's), "Rachel Berry look-alike" (I am not by any means aware of any 'Glee' reference here), "Avatar guy" (no, he's not blue), "the princess of rude" and "the queen of awkward". There's also "KK guy", (easy to spot because of his bright red KK jacket), "Penelope Cruz's sister" (who was also in my lectures in first year), "midget whore girl" (I KNOW this is wrong in every possible way, but if you saw her, you would agree), "babyface", and "angry library guy", who is actually not a student, but a library invigilator, who always tells me off if I'm breathing too loudly. We also have "the hot nerd" who has been promoted to "annoying nerd", as he seems to have become aware of how hot he is and makes a point about being noticed whenever he comes into the library. Here, we begin to give code names by association. For instance, we have "hot nerd's girlfriend" or "Rachel Berry's flatmate".
Of course, there's our classmates--how we don't know each other's names even if we spend a whole semester in the same lecture room is beyond me. So, there's "sushi girl" (aka "the bad-ass"), "hot douche bag", "dinosaur girl", "yogurt girl" and "ginger brows". There's also "hot internship guy", who, may I just note, I did try to approach and meet, but despite my one-time attempt at conversation, we did not, in fact, hit it off. Then, within the class mate category, there's also those who don't deserve a code name, such as one fine individual who claims that "global poverty is a reality that we should all start to embrace" and who also says he does drugs "to support the poor farmers who have no other means of subsistence"; such individual we call by his real name, and shall, of course, remain anonymous here.
Around town we often see "the purple lady", "the pirate" and "the cowboy" (all self-explanatory); there's also "naked girl" from next door, and the "whale woman" (NOT what you're thinking: she studies whales and told my friend all about it. He's to blame for not remembering her name despite having had an actual, real-life conversation with her).
So yes, there's a couple of people I do see all the time. You know what the problem is with all these code names, though? I've realised just how encapsulating they are. For instance, just the other day, I was in the entrance of the library and "French guy" was there next to me, having a conversation on the phone. Turns out, "French guy" is actually Italian. But do you have any idea how difficult it is to not call him "French guy" now? Suddenly I get this massive anxiety attack: are all the code names this inaccurate?
The library is, inevitably, where most of our code names are borne. Let's begin with those individuals who have gained their labels, not because of their physical attributes, but because of the auras they carry with them; notably, "Old Spice guy" and "smelly balls guy". They are the epitomes at the ends of the spectrum of individuals who come into our radar every day. The latter is a mystery, mostly because I cannot for the life of me think what it is that happens when he sits, legs wide open, and that horrible smell invades the immediate surroundings. Regulars on the first floor are: "ex-boyfriend look-alike" (not mine, someone else's), "Rachel Berry look-alike" (I am not by any means aware of any 'Glee' reference here), "Avatar guy" (no, he's not blue), "the princess of rude" and "the queen of awkward". There's also "KK guy", (easy to spot because of his bright red KK jacket), "Penelope Cruz's sister" (who was also in my lectures in first year), "midget whore girl" (I KNOW this is wrong in every possible way, but if you saw her, you would agree), "babyface", and "angry library guy", who is actually not a student, but a library invigilator, who always tells me off if I'm breathing too loudly. We also have "the hot nerd" who has been promoted to "annoying nerd", as he seems to have become aware of how hot he is and makes a point about being noticed whenever he comes into the library. Here, we begin to give code names by association. For instance, we have "hot nerd's girlfriend" or "Rachel Berry's flatmate".
Of course, there's our classmates--how we don't know each other's names even if we spend a whole semester in the same lecture room is beyond me. So, there's "sushi girl" (aka "the bad-ass"), "hot douche bag", "dinosaur girl", "yogurt girl" and "ginger brows". There's also "hot internship guy", who, may I just note, I did try to approach and meet, but despite my one-time attempt at conversation, we did not, in fact, hit it off. Then, within the class mate category, there's also those who don't deserve a code name, such as one fine individual who claims that "global poverty is a reality that we should all start to embrace" and who also says he does drugs "to support the poor farmers who have no other means of subsistence"; such individual we call by his real name, and shall, of course, remain anonymous here.
Around town we often see "the purple lady", "the pirate" and "the cowboy" (all self-explanatory); there's also "naked girl" from next door, and the "whale woman" (NOT what you're thinking: she studies whales and told my friend all about it. He's to blame for not remembering her name despite having had an actual, real-life conversation with her).
So yes, there's a couple of people I do see all the time. You know what the problem is with all these code names, though? I've realised just how encapsulating they are. For instance, just the other day, I was in the entrance of the library and "French guy" was there next to me, having a conversation on the phone. Turns out, "French guy" is actually Italian. But do you have any idea how difficult it is to not call him "French guy" now? Suddenly I get this massive anxiety attack: are all the code names this inaccurate?
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