Where awful Main Line kids go to “broaden their horizons on the world” – or in other words, to willingly surround themselves with more minorities in West Philly.  Needless to say, they will inevitably grow more jaded as they determine, through four years of dirty looks and the occasional offerings of forced sexual penetration, that they are not so “down with brown.”  These sentiments will be disguised at their future I-Banks where they can reference their “blue-collar” four years in Philly while using their Wharton-borne tendency to rank girls using basis points over PRIME.  Wait, you’re at Penn but not Wharton?  Why would you do that?  You could have just gone to Penn State for half the price and the same educational and perceptual value.

Are you a minority engineer?  Or a FOB Korean whose NJ-based parents were upset you couldn’t get into a better Ivy school and so they saved their nail salon money to lease you a new BMW so you could flaunt some second-generation wealth around Hanover?  Is college your first time drinking considering you spent your highschool years practicing the violin and math algorithms to get into the best school possible?  Did you not get a bid from the Delt house – even though your father is a prominent New England attorney?  Have you gotten carried away with your newly-discovered fraternity gene during your “Sophomore Summer” and enjoy games of Public vs. Prep School flipcup between ultimate frisbee sessions?  When it’s too cold to go out and night, do you stay in and jerk off to Dr. Seuss books?  Do you get sick and tired of hearing your professors talk about how they regularly commute to New York City to gain urban perspective while consulting for some bullshit company?

9:00am: Wake up in Notre Dame dorm room.  Roommate is still asleep – he just doesn’t have the same “work ethic.”  Tassle long, sandy-blonde hair, cover up with Notre Dame hat, put on Notre Dame t-shirt and other ND merchandise.  Compliment self on having so much “heart”
10:00am: Walk through God Quad with friend while debating Brian Kelly versus Charlie Weis.  Affirm this is the year they turn it around.  Congratulate each other on going to Notre Dame.
6:00pm: Work out after long day of class.  Pre-law is hard!  Congratulating self the entire time about how “work ethic” is so strong
7:00pm: Pray and feel guilty about believing that “work ethic” is personally developed, and not granted by God
9:00pm: Watch Rudy and drink every time Notre Dame logo is shown on screen.  Though proud of Rudy, have a difficult time relating to his blue collar upbringing
11:00pm: Get wasted at bar and sing Fight Songs at top of lungs
12:00am: Make out with a Catholic girl.  Fantasize about nailing her on the 50-yard line of Notre Dame stadium
1:00am: Sneak her out because girls aren’t allowed in the dorms afterhours.  Father McKenzie might see her!
1:30am: Feel guilty for not having walked her home in the freezing cold
2:00am: Masturbate furiously while roommate is asleep.  Compliment self on having the self-will and determination to finish
2:30am: Feel guilty about touching self, pray, rest head on ND pillow and go to sleep

Long Island – Rich – Jewish – Greek – Ravens fan.  One of these adjectives applies to every single student at UMD.  The Terps have the good fortune of being located deep within the grundle of Washington DC.  This allows Evan from Mineola, NY to hurl racial epitaphs from his Land Rover, drunkenly crash into a Pontiac Sunfire at the Popeye’s off Route One, get the shit beaten out of him by PG County’s finest, crawl home and do some blow (all to have his dad clean it up before he wakes up.)  Repeat X 4 years.  Good times.

You are:

A) From the East Coast and couldn’t get into an Ivy League school.
B) From California and couldn’t get into Stanford or Berkeley.
C) From a wealthy family in the Midwest, white or Indian, definitely fat, turned down the scholarship at U of Illinois, and now walk cockily along the Magnificent Mile having reached the peak of elitism (or as much elitism that can be feasibly attained in a flyover state).

FSU is another one of those schools that is renowned mostly for its football program and esteemed curriculum, a Latin word that translates roughly as “a good source of ecstasy, fake tits, and low self-esteem.”  Needless to say, the football program is a disaster with boosters who wouldn’t hesitate to inject your child with tuberculosis for the opportunity to actually play again on New Year’s Day.  Going to school here isn’t advancing yourself much at all, unless you consider ‘getting fraternity letters branded on your ass before working as a mortgage broker in Jacksonville’ to be an advancement.

Georgetown:  A place where over-involved, uptight, student council presidents spend four years supplanting their idealism before working in a bitch role at a peripheral thinktank-consultancy firm before going to law school before working for a large corporate law firm before meeting a spouse of comparable upper-middle class Mid-Atlantic pedigree before having two average kids before putting undue pressure on them to advance the family name before being disappointed by them before dying a miserable old person who never “got the chance” to change the world… or at least leave Northern Virginia.  Repeat X 3 generations.

Unfortunately you can’t put national sports championships on your resume.  Why?  Because you didn’t do anything.  Spending the majority of your waking hours acting like an asshole and blindly following the football and basketball teams doesn’t count as working experience.  It just shows that you were an average Floridian high school student who happened to have picked the one of the three major Florida public universities that won some championships within the past five years.  The fact that you have a tough time understanding this really attests to the value of your education.

What your private tutor at Kaplan didn’t teach you:  That’s not envy on the passersby’s faces when they look at your crimson sweatshirt.  It’s the look of deep, disgusted judgment as they decode you as:

A) Socially inept trust-fund nerd
B) Undeserving minority
C) Complete fucking douchebag
D) All of the above

Remember, the 26 billion dollar endowment is an indication of ego size, not penis size.

HOW TO IDENTIFY:  In a remote village in Botswana, spending more time regretting the decision and calling National Geographic to get more publicity (for better chances at grad school) than working to better the non-profit AIDS clinic he started in a futile effort to win the Rhodes Scholarship.

In just two years at MIT, you’ve already mastered a new language – that of Frat Boy Code (occasionally written in binary). “Studying for finals” translates to “binge drinking until the BPD has to fish you out of the Charles” and offering to “take a girl up to the roof and show her the CITGO sign” is code for rape her. Then, again, if a girl somehow does wander into the frat house that’s home to the wild men of Gamma Gamma Graphing Calculator, she probably goes to Wellesley, where any kind of sex that does not involve strap-ons or Belle & Sebastian is almost always considered rape, or at least rape-y.