Grad School = No Fun, part 1

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My first Sunday here, I woke up feeling chipper and got ready for church especially carefully.  This was my thought process:

Me: “Yay!  Church is today!  I get to make friends.  I live in crummy graduate student housing, but at least that means everyone in my ward will be my age!  Yay!”

Then I got to church and realized the building was enormous and I had no idea which of 18 chapels I was supposed to enter for sacrament meeting (slight exaggeration, there may be only 15).  So I did what any rational adult would do:  I hid in the bathroom for a little bit.

While in the bathroom, I met an overly friendly girl (side note: I don’t like it when people talk to me in bathrooms.  Even people I know).  Through her aggressive friendliness, she figured out I was in her ward and helped me find the chapel.  I was grateful, and my optimism about church returned.   

Then this conversation happened:

Me: So, what year of school is this for you?

Overly Friendly Girl, gesturing to herself and roommate: We’re freshmen.

Me, unwilling to let my optimism die:  Freshmen in graduate school?

OFG: No, like, we just graduated from high school.

Me, still praying things will be okay: Are there very many freshmen in the ward?

OFG: Yep, pretty much everybody.  We all live in the dorms.

Me: …

Me, reeling: …

Me, still reeling: ...

Me, (internally) for the next three hours of church:  How do I get out of this ward?  How do I get out?  How do I get out? How do I get out? How do I get out?How do I get out?How do I get out?How do I get out? How do I get out? How do I get out? How do I get out? HowdoIgetout?HowdoIgetout?HowdoIgetout?HowdoIgetout?HowdoIgetout?
WHERE IS THE ESCAPE HATCH!

Turns out there is no escape hatch.