Every Trevian knows to avoid the P Stairwell like it’s the plague. Especially during the last week of school, when seniors tend to ramp up their senioritis.
If you’re not wearing Uggs and Feel Goods during finals, get out. Period.
If you don’t know that as the temperature rises, the stench of the small cafeteria gets more and more disgusting, face it, you’re not a Trevian.
You’ve never paid for a cab ride home. #saferides
If you don’t take, like, seven AP courses, don’t even bother applying to college.
Let’s face it: if you’re not going to Puerto Vallarta this spring break, you will be hitting up Palm Beach Tan.
Only on Saturday mornings, with a pounding headache, are you willing to travel south of Wilmette, just for a bacon loretta.
You’re completely willing to drop your parent’s cold hard cash on a tricked-out bus and dinner in the city before you stop by the dance for no more than twenty minutes.
You know there are no rules in the Scrounge. Every Trevian for themself.
The second most-avoided stairwell is the D. If you’re a Trevian, you know why.
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