If you’ve ever done anything remotely embarrassing, you know the common phrase that will, without fail, be told to you: “Don’t worry, no one will remember.” I’m here to tell you that is a lie.
During orientation week, my roommate, two neighbors (who later would become my closest friends at Swarthmore), and I were in Sharples making a school-sponsored wellness box. I was blissfully enjoying the company of these strangers — with whom, little did I know, I would be spending the next four years — when an ear-splitting noise filled the room. To my surprise, my pastel-pink birdie was on the floor, flashing and screaming.
[Pause]
Quick point of order for people who do not have an overly-protective immigrant mother who is paranoid about everything: A birdie, as described by the super niche indie store (Amazon), is a “small, stylish personal safety alarm designed for women that emits a loud 130dB siren and flashing strobe light to deter attackers.” It is composed of two attached parts. When you pull it apart, it begins to make the siren sound, and when you reattach it, it stops. Very straightforward.
I did not want to buy this, but it was a non-negotiable from my mother. If I wanted to move halfway across the country, I had to have both pepper-spray and a birdie.
[Resume]
I frantically tried to reattach the birdie, but I swear it metamorphosed into a new shape, because despite my efforts, it would not reattach. I gave up and began to hide my face in shame. Miraculously, the torturous noise ceased — it wasn’t divine intervention, it was my amazing roommate.
As my friends tried to convince me that this was not a rational reason to transfer colleges, one of them promised me that “no one would remember this.” I foolishly believed her for a year and a half.
In the fall semester of my sophomore year, I was talking to a friend, and the topic of orientation came up. I confided in her about the birdie incident. Expecting to receive an “Oh no,” or an “I can’t believe that happened,” she instead told me, “Oh my God, you were the girl with the birdie.” I died a little bit in that moment.
Take it from me, at a small school such as ours, people will remember your embarrassing moments.
As a way to commemorate completing the first half of my time at Swarthmore, I’ve decided to chronicle some of my embarrassing moments over the past two years.
[1.] Freshman year, on the first day of Bio 1, I was determined to be a good student: one who participates, actively listens, and really becomes one with lectures. I didn’t really set myself up for success; my friend and I decided to sit in the very back of Chang Hou Hall. Regardless of this blunder, nothing was going to stop me from being the “good student” I envisioned.
Our professor began the lecture by asking us questions that were covered in pre-class reading, one of them being “What are the characteristics of life?” I took IB Bio in high school, so this was ingrained into my head. I raised my hand, like the good student I wanted to be, and I said,
“A characteristic of life is maintaining homeostasis.”
My voice did not carry from the back of this big lecture hall. The professor hits me with the, “Can you say that again?”
I leaned forward in my seat and proceeded to scream:
“Homeostasis, it maintains it!”
After I yelled, there was a painful, extended moment of silence before the lecturer moved on. It is safe to say I never raised my hand to answer another question in that class.
[2.] In that same biology class, we were assigned seats, and who we sat next to became our “group” for the whole semester. As finals season approached, my group and I were speaking about how we were feeling. This guy in my group turned to me and asked, “Nasrin, how are you feeling about the test?”
Since he used my name, it only felt customary to do the same thing, “I’m feeling okay. How are you feeling, Issac?”
His name is, in fact, not Issac, and like any rational, normal person, he responded, “Who is Issac?”
This wouldn’t be embarrassing if we’d only known each other for a few days, maybe a month, but we have been in the same group together for an entire semester.
[3.] Redacted
[4] You know how when you hang out with someone for so long that you start adopting their “vernacular.” Well, I have a friend who loves using the word “babe.” She calls everyone “babe” — it does not matter who you are. Surely you can see where I am going with this.
This guy asks me to do something (the thing does not matter), and I tell him,
“Give me one second, babe.”
I meant to say bro. “Give me one second, bro.” He doesn’t say anything. I choose to believe he did not hear me. But, for good measure, I called him “bro” a concerning number of times that night to really cement in his mind that he is “bro.”
These are just a few of the countless embarrassing things I have done during the two years I have been here. While these moments haunt me, namely [3], they are the ones that I remember the most from my time at Swarthmore. Calling your friends immediately after doing something embarrassing and them making fun of you for it, laughing, and getting to reference these moments randomly throughout your life is what makes embarrassment such an important thing. Do not be afraid of embarrassing yourself. To live perfectly, to do everything correctly, is simply to have a boring existence. A life without embarrassment is no life at all.
