Welcome back, Panthers—new and old alike. I hope everyone’s first week of classes is going as well as mine.

I’m seeing and catching up with friends from semesters’ passed, meeting new teachers  and have already received over 18 reading assignments. I am drowning.

Here is my preamble: I have noticed this before in Charleston—specifically around campus and the bars. For some reason, it is sticking out more to me this year. It screams, “excessive.” I do not know if it actually is or if I am just hyperaware of it since I saw students pelting glass bottles in an alley.

There is broken glass everywhere.

This is my third year living in this town. Charleston is now my home away from home, and I care about the state of it.

If I could walk around with a broom and dustbin, I would, but I have not figured out just how quite yet. Do they sell retractable brooms or dustbins? I have to check Amazon.

On top of that, I have noticed a ridiculous amount of littering. Chip bags, cups, to-go boxes and straws, which, by the way, I thought we were not even using straws anymore. Does anyone remember the issue with the sea turtles?

There are trash cans and recycling cans all around campus. If you cannot hold onto your trash until you make it to one, you should take a deeper look at yourself.

In a situation in which you may or may not be inebriated, please drill it into a segment of your lizard brain to seek out a garbage can. Maybe do not throw your empties onto gravel and stomp on them.

Irregardless (Mean Girls reference), do not come for me; the amount of broken glass I am noticing in parking lots, on sidewalks and in grass is making me fear wearing my slides. Will glass chips get inside my shoe and prick my foot? Will I even notice it? Will the glass chips be left in me so long they will enter my bloodstream and eventually make it to my heart—causing me to die?

And I am not even considering how many flat tires all that broken glass could cause because I do not have a car, but—wow, think of all the flat tires.

I mean, when I go out for a trek across campus, the sidewalks and gravel parking lots glitter—and it is not gold, honey.

The lady buying the stairway to heaven was wrong. Smashmouth was wrong. It is broken glass.

Listen, I have panic disorder, people. I am guaranteed to freak out for myself and for everyone else. Please try to take your glass bottles to the nearest trash can or—better—recycling bin before I spiral into Sheila from Shameless and never leave my dorm room ever again.

Thank you. Let’s have a stress-free semester, Panthers. I am already feeling pressed. It is  fine.

Megan Keane is a senior psychology and English major. She can be reached at 581-2812 or at [email protected].