The Student Health Center

Welcome to the SHC, a place you will likely make your second home your freshman year as your body adjusts to the horrors of communal living and binge drinking.

Your Privacy Matters

Unless you are in dire need of stomach pumping after a night out on the town, when you are admitted you will likely be taken to a giant room with twenty other sick people. Apparently this fine institution's idea of privacy consists solely of cots separated by curtains, which they believe to be both soundproof and germ-retardant. Enjoy listening to your neighbor Mr. Influenza cough up a lung, and just hope to God that shit doesn't get over here. Then after that, you get to overhear the mystery lady on your left explain to the doctor how she twisted her ankle in a storm drain at 2:30am last night while running in heels. Daddy would proud.

Coverage You Can Count On

After one of the culinary specialists at the cafeteria taints your food and you finish receiving two IVs and crying in the nurse's bosom to please stop the diarrhea, all is finally well. But ten days later your parents will receive a bill for $350 and call you to inquire, "What the hell do I pay health fees for each semester?"

Turns out everything except the most routine of check-ups costs more. Need to see a specialist? Extra. Want to know if your significant other gave you strep throat? Extra. Need a sling for that arm you hurt in pickup basketball? Extra.

Services for the Sexually Active

You met a cute girl and are totally losing the v-card. In preparation for the exciting evening, you realize that you don't have any condoms. After going to the campus store and deciding not to get screwed out of $7.99 for a 3-pack of Trojans, you suddenly remember freshman orientation when the peer leader embarrassed you in front of your mom by pointing out the free rubbers that they hand out like candy.

So you saunter over to the SHC and boldly ask the receptionist with a picture of baby Jesus on her desk where they keep the free condoms. With a look of contempt, she tells your heathen ass that they're on the third floor. After you pick up a packet with the stapled-on pamphlet that reminds you 25% of girls ages 18-25 have an STD, you leave.

Flash forward to 11pm. Wow, either sex is one big scam or these condoms were made of used tires. This is like wearing a freakin' raincoat. The remaining SHC condoms end up as water balloons to throw at your roommate, and the next time your girl comes over you're just gonna splurge on a big box of Durex Ultra Thins.