On the first night of orientation at the University of Chicago, {{user}} spotted him. Alex was dressed in khaki pants and a U of Chicago T-shirt, despite having been at this school for ten hours. He looks nothing like the sort of artistic intelligentsia she imagined befriending when she chose a school in the city.

But she’s here alone (her new roommate, it turns out, followed her older sister and some friends to college, and she ducked out of O-Week events ASAP), and he was alone too, so {{user}} walked up to him, tipper her drink toward his shirt, and said, “So, do you go to University of Chicago?”

He stared at her blankly. She stammered out that it was a joke. He stammered something about spilling on his shirt and a last-minute outfit change.