2. Receive concerned sympathy from friends.
3. Get advised by the third year student that McGill assigned you instead of an advisor, who looks at you with impotent consternation and gives you a list of offices where they might also look at you with impotent consternation.
4. Run around campus. Trek to small, ugly, out of the way buildings, most of which are on top of various mountains. Get harrangued by small men who have not enjoyed intimacy with their spouses for at least six months and feel the need to take it out on their young, innocent students. Alternately, get stared at blandly by doe-eyed secretaries who would much rather be reading Cosmo right now.
5. Have it indicated to you that you are an untermensch by a francophone porter. Start responding in French, then realise that you really don't have to stand for this shit and reply "Thank you for your time" in very distinct English with slightly sardonic subtones.
6. Visit the orientation centre. They won't tell you anything but you will receive a cookie. You may still be royally fucked, but you now have a cookie. Look upon this as a marked improvement in your fortunes.
7. Sit for an indeterminate amount of time in a small dingy hallway waiting for an advisor that is at a doctor's appointment and will return on Monday.
8. Run into some anarchist-leftist kids who hand you a handbook-zine that tells you, among other things, when Kaddafi was "democratically elected" in Libya and how to transfer to Concordia, where apparently the level of oppression by capitalists and multi-national corporations is smaller. Consider this briefly out of desperation. Smile politely and resist the urge to tell them to vote for Obama.
9. Panic. This won't help. Do it anyway.
10. Cry. See above.
11. Consider running away to Morocco or lighting something on fire.
12. Come back to dorm and chill with lovely roommate, who doesn't have courses for winter either. Worst comes to worst, you two can hang out with the hobo-climbers on Mont Royal come February.
