At the Bryn Mawr Courts last Saturday, I was the victim of a pool accident.

Actually, just to clarify, I was picked up and tossed into a stew of fully-dressed participants.

The cheap beer coupled with a childlike giddy excitement led us to slosh water around in the orgy of drenched college seniors.

We essentially embodied every landlord’s worst nightmare by completely saturating the carpets with the increasingly gray water that probably snaked its way through crevices and into the downstairs apartment.

After simmering in the makeshift pool and scarfing down a few birthday cupcakes, I was feeling totally liberated and slightly rebellious until stepping outside into the frigid 3 a.m. darkness for a two-mile walk home.

Although I bitched all summer about the humidity and persistent heat, I was praying for waves of it to hit me during those initial few moments waddling around like a pregnant penguin, with my jeans suction-cupping my thighs.

My two friends and I searched in vain for a ride home, and when we were about to give up all hope, I approached a boy who I’ll just refer to as X for the sake of anonymity. Hoping he would take pity upon my ridiculous, drenched state, I asked if there was any way I could borrow a pair of shorts and as collateral- I whipped out my forest-green J.Crew Credit Card- he could hold onto my piece of plastic to doubly ensure the return of their clothing item.

So there I was, wet, cold, tired, no longer buzzed and X, who lives on the first floor of the courts, fakes a yawn, “You know I’m really tired and just can’t deal with this right now.”

POW! I suddenly felt akin to Yogi Bear when a melon was dropped on his head.

This attitude was certainly the antithesis of the overzealous Blue Keyers who would willingly give you their last pint of blood upon request. I went on to ask yet another guy and received a similar response.

It wasn’t until a group of girls, one of which I recognized from French class last year, took pity on me by lending clothing without taking any collateral.

“Just return them whenever” was the kindhearted response from the good Samaritan.

Maybe some guys harbor a secret vendetta against J.Crew – goddamn preppies said I would look good in this polo! – or maybe it was that I just looked downright ‘un-hot’ with my matted brunette hair and waterlogged clothing.

Regardless, it was shocking to receive such a cold denial when a fellow student requests a small favor.

Villanova is the kind of school where you can lose your Wildcard and it’ll be returned to you with no points missing; it’s the kind of school that boasts more volunteers than any other American college; it’s the kind of school where most students readily help one another out. Nevertheless, a teeth-chattering, completely drenched fellow classmate in dire need of a change of clothes for a long walk home found herself helpless.

Back home, I plopped down on the couch and switched on the QVC Home Shopping Channel. It’s not one of my favorites, but as I inhaled mouthfuls of goldfish crackers, I began thinking that like the garnished, perky lady on TV oozing with praise for the $500 diamond necklace that “even J. Lo wears,” we too buy into an image and when our expectations are not fulfilled, it can be as disappointing as the necklace that’s supposed to make you look as classy as a movie star.

In nearly 4 years at Villanova, I’ve always felt that while at times superficial and phony, Villanova students are ubiquitously nice, good-natured people.

It’s when something bad happens that I want to declare injustice and return that increasingly hideous necklace for something else.