Sing, O Muse, of the Man of Market Street…

Can a hungover Odysseus make his 9AM?

Odysseus has a hangover. He had a few too many tequila shots at Sinners last night, and now he’s late for his 9am lecture. After a gruelling marathon from his DRA flat, he feels a flicker of hope upon reaching the final leg of his journey: Market Street. Little does our hero know, this final stretch of his odyssey will be his most perilous yet.

A fearsome mob clad in identical puffer jackets are first to pounce. It is the dreaded writers from The Saint, lurking outside the Union for the perfect prey. Moving as one, they thrust their newspaper under his nose and chime, “Copy of The Saint?” in sing-song unison. Odysseus gathers his wits and resorts to the age-old solution to unwanted badgering: head down and avoid eye contact. But they throw collective daggers at his back with the muttered condemnation of “illiterate fool.”

He plans to continue with his approach to avoid the eyes of enemies and acquaintances alike. But his pointed interest in his own feet backfires when he walks straight into a wall of tourists listening intently to their red-gowned tour guide. These great minds banded together to decide that stopping dead in the middle of the pavement, then spreading out to cover as much ground as possible, would be a socially acceptable move. Impressed by this shameless divide-and-conquer strategy, Odysseus makes a mental note to use the tactic in his next battle. Hopefully, if his army can muster enough entitlement and throw away all spatial awareness, they too will mentally batter the enemy into frustrated submission.

Odysseus soldiers on until he is nearly derailed by the siren call of his situationship. She emerges out of Tesco, looking angelic as the automatic doors part for her in slow motion. He feels a sudden desire to cross the road and make things official between them, but comes to his senses in the nick of time and bestows a nonchalant nod upon her instead. He carries on, congratulating himself on his self-control and good sense. 

Realising he hasn’t eaten since his meal deal at 2pm yesterday, our hero decides he’ll make a quick pitstop at a coffee shop. Having acquired a bacon roll and an iced matcha cloud latte, he steps out feeling a little more optimistic about his raging headache and spotted vision. Not two steps down the road, though, and he’s dive-bombed by a ferocious creature with powerful wings and soulless beady eyes. After snaffling his roll and inflicting several battle wounds in the process, the malicious seagull flaps away over the St Andrews skyline, squawking smugly all the way.

A devastated Odysseus considers turning back. The gods must sense his despair and sympathise, because the clouds gather and a steady drizzle begins. Foolish first-years open their umbrellas, while Odysseus grits his teeth and trudges onwards. Sure enough, a powerful gust of wind rushes down Market Street, sending Odysseus flying backwards and turning every umbrella inside-out. He has lost all his progress, and the umbrella-carriers all their pride. 

On comes a fresh wave of nausea, and his head begins to swim. On the opposite pavement is an alarming gathering: his number one opp appears to have amassed a friend group made up entirely of Odysseus’s Freshers’ Week friends whose 601-friendship never turned into a coffee date. Meanwhile, dead ahead and approaching rapidly is a small figure wearing a dazzlingly bright red power suit. He shields his eyes from the vision that is Dame Sally Mapstone. She swims in and out of focus, until there are multiple Sallys advancing upon him, smiling perkily and looking primed for friendly acknowledgement. Odysseus swerves off course into the road at the last second, narrowly avoids being run over, and doubles back to safety before he can be sucked into the whirlpool of social niceties and awkward silences awaiting him across the road. 

As Odysseus finally opens the door to the Buchanan Lecture Theatre, he is met with a smattering of applause. His heart swells with pride, as he marches victoriously down the aisle. It is only when the applause stops and his fellow students begin to pack away their things that he realises the lecture has finished. He slumps into a chair, completely defeated by his St Andrews odyssey, and contemplates his impending journey home.

Illustration by Tessa McCormick