There comes a time in every student’s day when she finds herself on the frontlines of a battlefield. You’ve got a 1:30 at Dale and you just spent the last hour and half watching old Colbert Reports in the library and now you have to walk across South Oval during peak traffic hours. The risks are great. Self-righteous bikers, talkative geology lab acquaintances and every person you may or may not have drunk texted last weekend flood onto this central sidewalk just in time for your midday journey.
You take all of the necessary precautions. Looking both ways before you cross the bike lane. Keeping your phone handy for that well-timed fake phone call you are about to get. Having your eyes open for possible alternate routes.
You pass Nielsen and Gittinger Halls problem free. You feel confident, turn that hood Internet song up in your headphones and even go so far to sweep your fingers through your bangs.
Oh hell yeah! You own this oval. You throw nonchalant head nods and chunk up waist-high deuces like it is your job. You don’t stop and talk. Your sunglasses are way too dark for something that mundane. Something comes over you that makes you wish you had put Rihanna’s “So Hard” on your iPod and then you instantly make a mental note to never tell anyone that. Nothing can touch you. This is your kingdom. This university is in the palm of your hands, but wait a second … something else is in your hands.
Can it be?
NO!
DARN IT ALL!
YOU HAVE BEEN FLIER-ED!
How did it happen?
Everything was going so well and suddenly your paws are full of advertisements for whatever cancer, culture or cause needs your money and participation this week. What now? You can’t throw it away. The kid who forced it on you lived on your hall freshman year and when you turn around his overachieving eyes are still watching you.
And I know that you are not about to litter. Come on, does crimson and green mean nothing to you people? You reach to shove it in your pocket and that is when you discover the dozens of other fliers that you have mindlessly stashed away.
You, comrade, are a victim, but you are not alone. Every day countless people are trapped in this same scenario. That is why I have developed a few strategies to avoid these painful moments that, in extreme circumstances, can result in a very painful paper cut.
Let’s start with the old stand by. The zig-zag. In the distance, you spot a dude with a meaty stack of neon fliers. There is only so far that those arms can stretch and if you plan carefully you can avoid him. Sure, you look like you completely forgot where you were going for a couple of seconds. But it’s a risk I am willing to take in the name of flier-less living.
The next approach I like to call not my hands, not my problem. You have two options here. One, always have a bunch of crap in your hands, books, technology devices, young children, your own vomit, really anything that says “No room for fliers in these puppies!” The other option is to Mary-Katharine Gallagher your hands and stealthy hide them in your own arms. When I do this I like to look the flier man right in eyes like “Where you gonna put that flier now? Not my hands, not my problem!”
Of course there is the traditional, some say polite way of declining the flier. A simple “No thank you,” combined with a tight-lipped smile. However, in all my years of flier avoidance I have found that this is usually the response that most pisses off the volunteer. In this situation niceness is just salt in the wound. If you aren’t going to take the flier then you might as well be an ass about it. Makes the person doling out those slips of paper feel even more motivated about promoting the event/candidate/screamo band.
Lesser, but nonetheless effective choices for flier-evasion include avoiding eye contact, telling them you just got one or holding your hands up and making a face like you have a severe paper allergy.
So to you, my South Oval soldier, I say Godspeed. Keep your head down and your hands to yourself.
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kheldarwmk 2 years, 2 months ago
Ms. Turner, that was quite the entertaining story and it made my morning. Thank you.