It’s spooky season: Here are three terrifying things all Liverpool students can relate to

Ah, Halloween. The spookiest season of them all, because deadlines are starting to roll in fast, your dissertation supervisor is already ignoring you, and the thought of organising your flat Secret Santa is already looming. I’ve picked out the three most terrifying experiences that are bound to happen to you as a student, so you can relive them all in sheer fear before the big day. Be warned, because the last one will genuinely send a shiver down your spine.

Trying to pack up your shopping in Lidl

Any student living in town can relate to the hell and horror that is the Lidl on London Road.

The immediate overwhelm as soon as you step inside and can’t find a single thing as they rearrange the aisles every week – or ending up hot, sweaty, and embarrassed when you can’t manage to pick up a basket out of the pile because someone stuck them together with gum. You look around at all the organised people who came with a handwritten list and came mentally prepared with all the things they need to grab in order to meal plan and prep for the week, whilst aimlessly throwing pasta, cheese, some crisps, and other random foods in a basket – which always ends up being more expensive than if you had just sorted your life out and written a list.

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Then the worst part of the whole experience looms ahead. You join the queue to pay. The people in front of you are shaking with anticipation at the thought of throwing their items into a bag. You wait your turn, heart beating in your mouth. Throwing the contents of your basket onto the conveyor belt only accentuates this. You open your bag, ready to catch the block of cheddar that is about to get thrown your way, and prepare. Your arms move at lightning speed – opening bags, shoving packets down so as not to interrupt the flow by asking for another carrier. The queue stares at you in anger as they eagerly wait their turn.

Hell and horror. Worse than tripping in the street alone so there’s no one to laugh it off with. Enough to just opt out of a food shop full stop. You load your bags onto your shoulder and prepare for the painful walk back up Brownlow Hill (it’s basically weight training at that point) and breathe a sigh of relief. Your face returns to a normal colour and your heart rate slows down. It is done. At least until next week.

Being picked on in a lecture when you have no idea what is happening

Arguably the worst thing to happen. Ever. Whilst sat in a lecture hall with what feels like hundreds of others sat in front of you, you take a small break by replying to your friend’s text that obviously could not wait, or by having a scroll on ASOS. Big mistake. The lecturer somehow knows.

In your absence, a question has been thrown out into the crowd. You pay no attention as you quietly add a new top into your basket. A shadow suddenly looms over your screen. Slowly looking up, you lock eyes with your lecturer, who repeats the question, staring directly into what feels like your tiny, small, stupid brain. The question, of course, sounds like they are asking you to solve every single problem in the world in ten words and come up with it in ten seconds, as you have absolutely no idea what the past twenty minutes of the lecture has been about.

Words start forming and just gush out of your mouth and have no relevance to the question at hand. The eyes that were igniting your palms to sweat, your mouth to go dry, and your face to turn red can be felt turning away from the back of your head. It takes you a full day to recover from this, and you just simply never return to that lecture. A truly terrifying experience.

Checking your bank account after a night out

Why are my eyelids stuck together? Why does my mouth taste like tequila? Did I accidentally sleep with someone? Just a few of the questions that might cross your mind after a night out – or after a good one, at least.

Haunting the halls of your flat or house whilst swallowing down your own vomit, trying to make some food. You feel good, surprisingly. You may have ended up two-manning it in O’Shea’s with your one other friend who decided it was a night to take too far with you. You are a level of drunk where you mentally become a super confident woman who is conveniently a millionaire. “Shots on me!” seems to just spout out every five minutes, but it’s okay because you have channelled your inner rich lady who wears Lululemon leggings, goes to pilates, and drinks matcha on a Sunday morning before retiring back to her big Sefton Park townhouse. That is now you. You have become her.

Reminiscing on the night, you suddenly regain consciousness. You did not actually have that money. You could not afford that. You are, in fact, not a rich lady who drinks matcha in her Sefton Park townhouse.

Opening your phone, the banking app looks at you like an alarm. Fingers shaking, eyes closed, mind racing. The minus figures stare straight back at you. All you can think is how you left your weekly food shop budget in McCooleys and your chance of getting the bus anywhere in Lago. You spend the next week financially recovering, only to do it again the next week. A universally terrifying experience for all Liverpool students.