I thought rooming with my three best friends from high school would be great, a way to move… I thought rooming with my three best friends from high school would be great, a way to move into the future while still keeping the people who made me “me.” We’ve had a lot of unforgettable conversations and hilarious misadventures that stretched into the wee hours of the night. But through all the hilarity, I couldn’t help but feel that something was missing.

Wouldn’t these times be more profound if spent with complete strangers from California and London, instead of kids who had grown up on the same streets as me? I still had 35,000 strangers at my disposal, but each time I reached an awkward silence when talking to one, I developed a tendency to quickly crawl back into my shell, comfortable in the knowledge that I had three people who understood and accepted me with minimal effort waiting for me back at Lothrop. It grew apparent that this safety net had become a bed of nails for me.

I was supposed to be immersed in the college experience — I had always pictured this involving passionate, espresso-fueled debates about “what it all means” with exotic new friends who would see in me all the potential to be the person I yearned to become. Instead, I was residing in a prison of my own creation, dutifully scribbling notes through class before grabbing a pizza and Fritos at the Union to bring back to the room where my friends and Homestar Runner awaited me — a far better alternative to the agony of eating alone in public.

It was pointless to try to eat with someone I didn’t know. What would I say to them after the weather and my major were politely assessed? I wasn’t conceived in Africa while my parents were in the Peace Corps. I’m not a National Merit Scholar or a prize-winning violinist. I’m a skinny kid with acne and uninformed opinions regarding Iraq from a tract town an hour and a half away.

I dabbled in some clubs in an effort to break the ice, but would always clam up whenever my thoughts on something were asked, no matter how much I was screaming on the inside. I determined that my problem was that I was spending too much time in my dorm room closed off from the world.

This led to my spending many a weekend night pretending to be intently absorbed in Ralph Nader pamphlets while sitting on the couches in Towers Lobby and wishing I was heading out for a party with one of the groups of friends amalgamating before me. If jealousy is all the fun you think they’re having, then I would be green with envy — except that would distinguish me too much and rob me of my Pink Floyd destiny, of being just another brick in the wall.

I had just handed over my Pitt ID to pay for the requisite pizza and Fritos I would savor in yet another night in the confines of Lothrop when she asked me how to pronounce my name.

I stared back at the lady behind the counter, wondering if I was about to be accused of embezzling dining dollars. I pronounced my name for her hesitantly. “Why do you want to know?”

“Well,” she replied, “you get the same thing everyday and I just think that you need a little variety in your diet. These kids go away for school and let their nutrition habits go to hell.”

“I guess I’m set in my ways,” I replied. I didn’t know what to say for a moment. So I thought of something. “What’s your name?”

“Pat,” she answered.

I didn’t take Pat’s advice. I’m too stubborn and busy to really care about watching what I eat. But she never fails to reprimand me for it every day. By name. It’s become a part of my routine. I like it. Maybe Pat is just a pleasant lady and finds that making a little small talk helps to make the day go faster. She does seem unusually congenial to whoever’s in front of me in line (something I had never noticed before). But I’m the only one I’ve heard her address by name. In a sea of 35,000 people, at least one person remembered me. Maybe I just need to go to Eddie’s more. A poster in my high school English teacher’s classroom read “Don’t frown — you never know who’s falling in love with your smile.” Lately I’ve tried to not only talk more, I’ve tried to smile more. You never know if someone is noticing.