street rant

I Vant to be Left Alone

A plea for solitude from a stressed-out, grumpy junior.

By JenniferMayFloresEstaris

Welcome to my house of suffering. I have an information systems case due soon, a presentation to plan for my English seminar, $10,000 left to pay to my educational hell of choice, a fever to battle, a god to choose, and a few humans to decapitate. But for now, I'll be satisfied unleashing a torrent of impassioned anger in a seven hundred word blurb. For your convenience, I have organized my hatred of everything into three complaints.

Gripe #1: For those of you who know me, you've seen the way I dress. No cleavage, no short skirts, no blue saran-wrap shirts. I don't cover my naked body with even more nakedness. In other words, I do not do the stereotypical Penn girl thing ... well, okay, occasionally I try to blend. You know, black sweater/white shirt/cigarette pants. The key to the actual blendation, however, is the third button from the top of the sweater. Allow me to demonstrate: Buttoned -- Penn student. Unbuttoned -- not a Penn student.

Actually, let's try that again.

Third button only -- Penn student. Unbuttoned -- Spice Girl.

As you can see, 'tis a fine line. Life is tough.

Gripe #2: Next up for bid. The fact that I am short. And I write short sentences. So I'm short. So what? You think short is cute? Fuck you.

Gripe #3: Living in the Quad freshman year on the floor promiscuously known as "Hall of Pot." This sucked because I smoketh not. On a good note, I didn't have to meet anyone. Occasionally I would throw things out of my window. That was nice.

"What the hell are you getting at?" you ask. I point to my three favorite words: Don't touch me. Let's go back to those happy moments in my life. It is summer. I take the subway to work. Lucky for me, the nearest station is at 40th and Market, forcing me to pass by vendors selling incense for $2 a bundle -- what a deal!

As a nice person, I wave to the vendors every day on my way home. One introduces himself to me.

"Hello, it is nice seeing you again. What is your name?"

"Umm..."

"We should do lunch one of these days; you are a very sweet person."

"Umm... I have to go."

"Very good."

He puts out his hand for a handshake. Ah-ha! Time for me to use my Wharton powers and squeeze his palms into a mushy pulp. Unfortunately, he is too quick. He pulls me in for a hug and says:

"I hope we will be great friends, you and me."

Then, a few days ago, I was walking near McDonald's toward 'Hamilton Village.' In the middle of the street, I cross paths with a group of tall guys. One grabs the side of my pants and says "Hey honey, where you going?" I kick his knee and run.

So, a few off-campus incidents -- no biggie. Surely I would be safe in the protective, nurturing Penn campus. In the same way that I did not come to Penn to think, I do not walk on Locust Walk to see people. On this walk, I always make an effort to focus on the ground or at the trees above. Unfortunately, as I attempt to follow the red brick road to individual enlightenment, I find myself surrounded by ostracized munchkins who purposely run into me. They are obviously bitter about their tallness. Sometimes these people initiate the crash because I accidentally knew them from freshman year. Sometimes these people are just plain stalkers.

"Hey! Jennifer! Remember me! You threw that football on my head from your window on the third day of freshman year! I read your Street article the other day and memorized every word! Did you get my e-mails/bottles of Coke/autographed picture of myself? Can I touch you?"

I do not in any way provoke such harassment. Dammit, these guys should be more careful. I mean, what if I have a gun? What if I'm really insane? What if I turn into a psycho at the mere touch of a stranger and pull out my semi-automatic Red Rider BB gun? These guys are asking for it.

At this moment of pure ecstasy, I find myself enveloped by the final rant which encompasses this waste of a rant in the pretentious way it should:

If you leave me alone, I promise not to hurt you.

Please E-mail StreetWeb@dp.upenn.edu with any questions or comments.