Codependent Collegian

A Codependent Collegian Guest Editorial by Marc Thompson

Thompson navigates another wrong building

This isn’t supposed to happen on the second day of class. I mean, I got up early this morning, had two cups of coffee—hell, I even showered—and was totally psyched for my Intro to Sociology class. (I hear Professor Mischaw is a total fox!)

And now here I am, lost in the middle of Georgia Tech’s big-ass campus, with no fucking clue where HUM 309 is.


But really, the problem isn’t being lost. I get lost all the time. When Dave [Baxter, close high school friend] and I went to see Tom Petty in July, we spent two hours trying to find the freeway out of Atlanta. Granted, we had smoked an entire ounce of Maui Wowie in a Coke can bong, but still, the directions we got from that gypsy chick selling hemp necklaces were truly substandard. I’m digressing, but you get my point—these things happen.

Left: Hostile, shark-like classmates just waiting to strike

The real issue is that I now have to walk into a lecture hall 28…make that 29 goddamn minutes late, looking like a jackass in front of a zillion other people. With my luck, the only seat open will be next to some blonde goddess with an incredible rack, and my hard-on will make an audible clack on the underside of my desk.

And I’m glad that Georgia Tech hired Haseem here as their only work-study student at the campus information counter. This guy has the IQ of a porn star, and speaks less English than my great aunt Mabel, whose Alzheimer’s is so bad she shits in her wheelchair.

So if you see me wandering about campus, help a brother out. Just get me to the right building, and I’ll make it worth your while—there’s a frozen pizza and half a joint back in my dorm room with your name on it.