I got an email from Wicked Chicken (a fried chicken restaurant across the street from my dorm, just next to Taco Bell and Safeway, well, more like in between), and for a moment it kind of ticked me off that the first person or “thing” to “greet me” (I suppose and wonder if "miss you, please come back, and give us money” is a way of greeting) was a chicken restaurant. And beyond that, they called me “Stranger” (Hello, Stranger!), which the last time I checked wasn’t a nickname I remember having.

Hello…Stranger…

Huh. Sure is something.

Your Friends at Wicked Chicken Wings.

(Can I share that they bolded their name?)

Wicked Chicken Wings.

It humored me.

Making similar promises to myself as I did last quarter, I decided that I had to eat breakfast given that it was only the first day. In reality, I think breakfast is such a necessity; you should always eat breakfast, but for context, I did a lot of morning grind and studying last quarter, which is probably better left unglorified.

It was bad.

Having your stomach growl in class (now called “lectures”) is like the least cool thing one could ask for. You start to wonder if the professor (especially with the class sizes at SCU, which for more context is quite small; it’s like a second “private high school”) is calling on you to answer a question, or to tell your stomach to shut up, or, as was the case in my middle school (yes, I also “forgot” to eat breakfast sometimes in middle school), have the teacher offer you a granola bar from their “secret room,” only to have the class turn towards you (out of spite, jealousy, or sympathy, I don’t know which) as she approaches, the granola bar in hand, before telling you to “eat up.”

Then, the class watches (some letting out a sigh of disbelief, others now thinking they have the kindest or best teacher in the world, which I “suppose” is true) as you slowly unwrap the granola bar, struggling a little bit with the finicky wrapper, only for the teacher to ask if you “need help" and that now that your table partner is helping you, you’re finally able to take a bite.

Only then do they leave you alone.

But, to get back to the grandeur life of college, or the first day back in college (legit the only day I have any measurable amount of energy, which already sort of dies after my first lecture), I was making my way to Mission Bakery in Benson, our dining hall, having ordered a yogurt parfait (for those who’ve stayed or continued on this journey with me, the butter croissant that sort of spurred on this whole telling of college stories was no longer on the menu) only to cross (more like “encounter”) Emily, my wonderful CF, on the way there.

“Oh hi! I didn’t see you there!"

The conversation sort of rambled on as we made our way over to Benson together (this was totally unplanned) only for her to ask me about my break, which was so-so (sorry Katharine, Letsy, Karina, and friends, those days were of much delight), and upon reaching Benson, we parted ways.

“Nice talking!”

I headed towards Mission Bakery while simultaneously searching for a seat, as I hadn’t been notified that my order was ready despite placing it before I even left my dorm, only for this order of yogurt parfait to take its sweet time.

…

I did in fact have class, and instead of being across some patches of grass with Kenna Hall, I had class in some building that apparently only I called “Edward” (if we’re going by last names, it’s "Dowd"), which was on the complete other side of campus from Mission Bakery, so I was “totally” in the mood to wait. But, being the kind, calm, and collected student I am on the first day back on campus, I waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And…

Bzzt!

I felt a buzz in my pocket and eagerly grabbed my phone, expecting a notification that my yogurt parfait was ready. Instead, it was a text message from my friend Katharine.

“Good morning!”

I sighed, staring at the message. Of course, the one time I actually wanted a food notification, it was something mundane. My stomach grumbled in protest.

Good morning…

Still no parfait.

Resigning myself to a yogurt-less fate, I decided to give up and head to class. As I walked out of Mission Bakery, my mind wandered back to Wicked Chicken's email. At least they wanted me back.

As I trudged across campus, I couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of it all. The first day of the new quarter and I was already reminded of the unpredictable nature of college life. Whether it was my stomach growling in the middle of lectures, getting caught in an endless wait for breakfast, or receiving the most untimely texts, it all seemed like part of the adventure.

Maybe next time I'll get my yogurt parfait on time. Or maybe I'll end up with another story to tell. Here's to another unpredictable quarter, I sighed. To another quarter and more!