Look, I’m over it. UCLA is basically an Olympic endurance course disguised as an academic institution. From walking up Bruin Walk to climbing the Death Stairs just to get back to my dorm – enough is enough. My legs are DONE.
That’s why, after some deep soul-searching (and a literal uphill battle to Powell), I’ve decided that the only solution is to fuck someone with a scooter. I don’t care who they are or what they’re like – if they glide around campus on two electric wheels and don’t have to huff and puff up Janss Steps like the rest of us, peasants, they’re the one for me.
I mean, scooters are like UCLA’s version of a motorcycle – quick, a little reckless, and probably ridden by guys who don’t finish anything in record time, if you know what I mean. But, hey, I’m not here for chivalry or heroics; men used to go to war, but now? They just scoot from lecture to lecture. Since scooters are basically cheat codes for UCLA, why suffer? Instead of trekking to class, I could be zooming along, clinging to the back of someone who knows what true efficiency is.
So, to all scooter riders: I’m ready to hop on – literally and figuratively. Because if I have to walk up one more hill, I’m dropping out.