By Trish Caucci
I am just a simple, silly freshman trying to sell my hard-earned t-shirt that I got fair and square at bonfire night. I thought since I’m so lucky to live in the air-conditioned haven that is Nordenberg, or as I know it “Nordy”, I should try to share my good fortune with my campus. I figured I should share my wealth because I know some people have to live in Towers. Since I’ve been here for about a month, I reckon I know a lot about being a Pitt student. I am well acquainted—sorry about my huge SAT word slipping out—with the hard work of standing in a line for free stuff.
I’m selling my ware for such a low price because I hate to think that my roommate and I are fighting over this stupid shirt. It’s so hard to like shower in our marble bathrooms knowing she’s so furious and might passive aggressively play Billie Eillish’s “Bury a Friend” while we sleep. She’s pissed that while we were both sweating furiously in our crop top sweatshirts that night the cute guy handing out the merchandise looked at my belly button panther ring and said, “Hail to Pitt” when handing me the last shirt. So, I got the last of the supplies, which didn’t really last ya know?
I don’t really remember what happened after that because of the strong Strawberitas we had that night. I remember flashes of us dancing in red paint; I think it was lit, but I don’t really know to be honest. I know my roommate’s sophomore boyfriend, who she “definitely didn’t follow to school”, egged her on about not getting him a shirt. And then we might have fought? He hasn’t heard from her since then, and come to think of it neither have I. I think she might have found someone else to follow. Did I mention I was wearing the cropped sweatshirt first, and she changed into it? I’m glad she’s gone. Anyway, I’ll accept meal swipes in payment because I made some senior friends who said they can get their hands on some more Strawberitas for me.