Most people come to Uni as your typical average Joe but it is inevitable that you will fall into one of these stereotypes:
“The fresher try hard”
You go out of your way to become the alpha male by drinking dirty pints whilst being cheered along to the original ‘I like to drink with….’ Chant. When asked the inevitable question ‘how many girls have you slept with’ on the first night of freshers, you quadruple the number of girls – classic. You pretend you know nothing about your fit flat mate who’s well out of your league but really you know what car she drives, her ex boyfriends name and what she got in her A levels from stalking her on ‘find your flat mate’ on Facebook. You treat freshers like it’s a lads holiday in Magaluf and you’re obsessed with a cheeky lads lunch date to Nandos. Gimps.
“The Promo Wanker”
You mention the word ‘guest list’ or ‘tickets’ at every given opportunity and will be saved as ‘Promoter’ on everyone’s phone. Whenever you send a text regarding an event to your 500+ contacts, at least 450 recipients will sigh ‘fuck off’ under their breath. On these texts you will trick people into thinking there’s only 50 tickets left and that you’ll have to get down early if you want a chance of getting tickets on the door. Bullshit. You will always emphasize how you get commission of 12p for every ticket you sell or guest list entry you get. By 2nd year most of the 500+ texts you send will come back as ‘message failed to send’ after everyone starts blocking your number. Even when they do block your number it’s inevitable people will come up to you and ask if you can ‘sort them out’. Girls will always inbox you if they’re afraid that tickets will run out and you jump to the conclusion that they fancy you. They don’t lads, they’re just using you. Get a proper job.
“I play rugby so it’s necessary to wear my tie on a Wednesday night”
You played rugby for your school first team and got to the quarterfinals of the daily mail cup and you rock up to the rugby trials thinking you’re the next Richie McCaw or Jonny Wilkinson. Turns out you’re not and you only just scrape into the 3rd team. You go to a competitive rugby university so you still think you’re the dogs bollocks. You post on Facebook that you’ve made it into one of the rugby teams and auntie pat comments ‘so proud of u!! xxx’. You then decide to put ‘Uni Rugby Team Player’ into your twitter and instagram bio without stating that you actually play for the 3rds. As soon as the University training kit is available to purchase you spend £300 of your loan on personalized hoodies and trackies making sure it states ‘Rugby Team’ in big bold capitals. You change your profile picture to your rugby mugshot of you in your new University kit to make yourself look like a good player and somehow burgle 50 likes. You purchase numerous protein shakers so you can walk around campus drinking from one and having two on display in the drink holders of your new personalized university rucksack. You’re on the rugby social in your creased and stained white shirt with the pathetically tied infamous rugby tie hanging from it. You go up to every remotely good-looking girl and tell her how you are a fringe 1st team player and that you happened to be ill on the day of varsity. If they reject you, you just move onto the next girl with the exact same story and hope they’ve had enough VK’s to go along with the bullshit. Rugby lads eh.
“I went to a £30,000 a year boarding school but let’s not make it too obvious”
You turn up to University in your Mum’s range rover wearing an ironed Ralph Lauren shirt, bright corduroy boot cut pants and sturdy brown brogues with a fresh side parting haircut you had the day before from your personal hairdresser, Carlos. Weeks later you’ve had a reality check and realised that you’re not in year 11 anymore and lecturers have a very similar fashion sense. You and your fellow £30k a year boarding school course mate take a quick trip to the local vintage shop and purchase numerous fila and ellesse sweaters along with the all-important Ralph Lauren cap. Your next stop is to Sainsbury’s local to buy a 3-in-1 pack of amber leaf and you ask your inevitable smoker housemate to teach you how to roll. Straights are just too mainstream for you. You either get a number 2 all over or don’t get your hair cut at all. You substitute your £1000 bar tabs in Mayfair for that cheap UPS you get off Darren in Mint Club. Your new nickname is the hoover after becoming addicted to cocaine and ketamine. When you go back to your £1.5 million flat in SW7 for Christmas, you look completely out of place but you don’t give a fuck because you’re a BNOC and have made it onto the Tab.
“Every other type of lad”
The first thing you do is invest in a pair of slim Adidas track pants and triple black huaraches. You think you’re a party animal when really you can’t even hack two nights out in a row. You live for generic nights such as Space and Fruity. You’re in a 7 a-side football team and think you’re amazing because you had a trial for Nottingham Forest Academy when really you’re shit. Winning a game of FIFA means a lot more to you than graduating with a 2:1. You’re adamant that you’re a fuckboy when really you can’t even pull a girl in Pryzm and instead you text loads of girls asking for cuddles whilst watching a romcom – and you can’t even do that because your mum and sister are constantly signed into your Netflix account. When your mates from home come up to visit you, you pull out all the stops to impress them and to prove to them that you’ve gained some sort of social status by messaging your promoter housemate from first year to get you queue jump and VIP. Turns out they’ve left university because they’ve failed first year twice in ‘Sports Development’. By third year you think you’ve conquered University and look down on 1st and 2nd years that still instagram professionally photographed nightclub pictures. You rarely have the urge to go out but if you do it’s only for special occasions such as 21sts or celebrating a friend who’s just been granted a post-graduate teaching job at a local Leeds primary school. If you do go out it’s bound to be to Headingley, Merrion Street or Call Lane but you probably don’t even make it to Backroom because you’ve turned into such a bad drinker. During the two-day long hangover period you start to re-evaluate what you’re doing in life and start to realise that you’ll be going into the real word in the near future. However, if you ask most people what their plans are after graduating, I guarantee the majority of people will respond with, ‘’Travelling before I get a job”. It’s an easy life isn’t it…