From the moment I step outside each morning to the moment I arrive home, I spend as much time as I can feeling the sun on my face, fresh air on my skin and wind beneath my feet. Every day I spend at least six hours on Lime scooters. I’ve always hated walking across campus from Emory Village to Emory Point and then back to Emory Village. The scooters have endowed me with hours of free time. To ensure I always have access to a scooter, I bring the scooter into my lectures and sometimes give it its own seat. When the charge gets low, I’ll simply use my phone to locate the nearest scooter and switch them out.
This plan worked well, as I was able to pop between campus buildings in minutes. But when my credit card bill came this week, I realized I racked up over $1.150 on scooters. I don’t have this kind of money lying around and I’m not sure how to pay off this bill before it starts accumulating mountains of interest. What should I do?
Environmental concerns aside, I’m shocked at the feasibility of using these scooters on a daily basis. With my anatomical structure, I can barely get above 5 MPH before my appendages start to fall off. Though if I were seriously strapped for cash, I would probably start selling my textbooks to the highest bidder. Those antiquated study materials can be sold for hundreds of dollars and are often much more valuable than any other college student’s possessions. Most of the time, you can probably find a PDF online for free. If you absolutely cannot go without the feel glossy paper between your fingers, check out the books from the library. To be frank, you could probably eke out a C- by simply not buying a textbook and winging it on the midterm. Lord (Dooley) knows I’ve done it in the past.
Once you sell your textbooks, you can use the profits to pay off your debts and buy your own scooter, although you’d probably be trading out one lame problem for another.
You can also check out the Wheel article from last week about side hustles that other Emory students pursue to make money.
I’m a junior. For a long time, I was pre-med, but after a discussion with my parents, I’ve decided it will probably be better for me to pursue a different career path. My heart is not set on medical school and my application is probably not competitive enough for the admissions process, anyways. Although we fought a lot, I think my parents accepted my decision. Now that I’m back on campus, I’m realizing that all of my friends are still pre-med and slowly disappearing as they begin studying for the MCAT. I figured they would talk my ear off telling me how the Chem/Phys section was harder than DUC chicken. Instead, no one will hang out with me anymore. I asked my friend if he wanted to grab lunch and he asked me to the library instead. Doolino, how do I maintain friendships with people who care more about their scores than their relationships?
If I could cast a spell and lift one curse from Emory’s campus, it would be the MCAT. The horrid exam has tortured thousands of undergraduates at Emory. Don’t judge your friends too much for prioritizing their exam. In their minds, their lives will only be monopolized by this test for a few months. While they will likely be this busy until they retire, they have yet to be clued into their own delusions. Stay persistent and keep offering to spend time with these old friends. As I’m sure you can guess, many of these pre-med students need emotional support now more than ever. Be a good friend and you will soon find a reward in your own generosity.
I live on the ground floor of Harris Hall and my roommate and I got along all semester. We matched with each other via random roommate selection and although I was worried we would clash, we slowly settled into harmony. Then everything changed when Marie Kondo attacked. My roommate has slowly been throwing out all of the stuff in our room under the pretense that it does not “spark joy.” It began with a few old shirts but slowly spiraled into things like our Brtta filter, some of my posters and half of my underwear! I even had to go to class in my bathing suit yesterday. I’m worried that if I don’t intervene, my roommate will start working through my textbooks, or worse, my birth control. How do I tell my roommate that some things might not spark joy, but still serve a purpose in my life?
Dear Marie Kond-no,
Your roommate is misunderstanding the gospel of Marie Kondo. Rule two of her method clearly dictates that you must imagine your ideal lifestyle before beginning the cleaning process. Now if, for some reason, your roommate’s ideal lifestyle involves you being pregnant and without access to purified water, I would advise you to find a different place to live — under the pretense that this roommate does not spark joy in your life, for some just desserts. In the more likely circumstance that she is just overdoing it with her cleaning, consider setting strict boundaries. Write a roommate agreement in order to fully explicate what you don’t want them touching.