Last week my roommate got knocked unconscious by her car trunk’s door, got in a fight with a 50-year-old man over an umbrella, got ganged up on by a bus-load of people who didn’t like the smell of her pizza, dropped her Tylenol in a toilet, sat next to “the smelly fat dude” on the bus and got her prosthetic leg stolen while she was showering her tears away.

I’d give you my weekend as a Good Luck counter story, but my weekend was nothing more than cheap red wine, 3 a.m. bus rides with transvestites, pointless fights with friends and managers, big breasted blonde Russian women in sequin dresses (not me), potato stew and Hungarian male strippers (aka my mom’s birthday).

Yet somehow, when I come home, there’s always that person who just aced their test, got a desperate phone call from an ex, got an internship that pays like $8,000 a minute (that last zero was a misprint because I have cocoa butter on my fingers and they’re slippery, but I’ll leave it because I already wrote this) and their favorite flavor of ice cream was available in CIW, right next to the pot of gold. How is it that no matter how many times I shake hands with people after walking on opposite sides of a pole, or knock on wood, I still don’t find the pot of gold?

Some people just suck all the luck there is out of life and leave people like me with Hungarian strippers.

After this weekend, I’ve decided that I’m no longer going to be nice to people (shut up, I’m nice) and rely on good luck to pull me through. I’m going to be mean and demanding and get everything I want like the other bitches I know. I’m not even going to pay for my meals anymore; I’m just going to tell them to fuckin’ put it on my tab, bro, while ripping bags of soy crisps down and leaving a crunchy little cheddar trail.

After a week of being mean to people, I will obviously have everything I want and can stop writing angry articles infused with a profound hatred toward everything under the sun, including rainbows and Nutella.

— Maya Fiks is a sophomore math and chemistry major. If you didn’t get it, walking on opposite sides of a pole is a superstition thing, jerk. Now defrost her fridge.