I felt my brain, body and soul fall apart at the Grad yesterday as I punched incorrect buttons on a borrowed calculator, wondering what the probability was I'd even pass my upcoming stats exam. I decided to take a break and try to find a summer job at the library's human resources department.

Lost in a library labyrinth

After being told there were no jobs, I got lost for half an hour in the dead-silent stacks of the Asia library, failing to escape even after desperately using the emergency phone to get directions.

I started to panic. After wandering more, I came across a fire exit and longingly touched the door. "No," I told myself, sweating profusely. "Not yet."

When I finally did burst through a familiar door, a stranger reminded me that I wasn't alone in my angst: a guy exiting the bathroom across the hallway locked eyes with me in passing, stared me down, and accusingly asked "WHAT!?" as if I had ruined his life, and stalked away.

SARA LYNNE THELEN

Slowly back away

One recent rainy morning, I walked into a North Campus bus stop shelter after my 8:30 a.m. class. After impatiently standing there for several minutes, I realized something wasn't quite right. It was then I noticed that I was still standing under my umbrella, despite being thoroughly protected from the elements by the shelter roof.

Embarrassed, I glanced around to see if anyone had noticed. A girl was standing close to me; surely she must have wondered about my peculiar behavior. To save face, I muttered, "Wow, why do I still have my umbrella open?" in her direction.

Instead of chuckling or offering a sympathetic "I dunno," she backed away very slowly and left the stop.

I was left alone, wondering if campus would be a less scary place if I didn't emerge from my house until the afternoon hours.

LAYLA ASLANI

You know, 'that' girl

I was at a Belikos concert at the Alibi venue on North Main last week, but nobody was dancing. I decided to throw social standards to the wind and take to the dance floor. Only my friend and a stranger joined in the gyrations.

As the song ended, I extended my hand to the stranger and introduced myself. "Hi, you must be THAT guy. I'm THAT girl." He laughed and admitted he was.

We kept over-zealously dancing but refused to reveal our names, instead insisting everyone call us "THAT guy" and "THAT girl."

At Belikos's set the next night, I again danced to my heart's desire in the middle of a stagnant crowd. A concert-goer from the night before winked and nodded at me, leaving me no doubt that I had successfully forged my reputation as "THAT girl."

ALLISON GHAMAN