The zombie. The ghost. The cheerleader. The pimp.

No – it’s not a scene from Halloween night. It’s a nightmarish flashback to high school. The makeup, the masks, the fake hair color . even scarier than a night of little kids dressed in monster costumes screaming and demanding my precious candy.

But alas, it’s all over now. I can calm down. I didn’t hate high school – it just makes me happy to think about how it’s over.

No more fighting your way into the “cool clique,” then darting your eyes about to be sure everyone else knows you’re cool. No more fashion show, the epic battle of hand-me-downs versus the Gap kids. No more praying you don’t trip and toss your lunch tray across the cafeteria. No more pretending to like people you know hate you.

In eighth grade a senior told me that in high school everyone was part of a big, happy family. That girl lied. The thousand-plus kids at Bellevue West High were part of a family – the kind that screamed “as seen on Jerry Springer.” Things were dysfunctional as hell.

I never noticed the little things that honk of high school when I was a freshman in college. Maybe I was blinded by the thousands of people I did not know and the buildings I could not find. But in my premature old-man state, I’ve started to fear I am starring in “College,” sequel to B-movie slasher flick “High School.”

But now that I’m able to look back on the last two years I do see some semblance of the screwy teenage rituals we were all a part of in high school.

My first year here there were no social bars separating me from potential friends. I was 200 miles away from Omaha and could drop the mask of whatever role I designed for myself in high school.

I got a chance to approach strangers and spark up conversations in those first few weeks of the semester when everyone’s guard is down and we’re about as close to happy to be back in class as is possible.

Those first few weeks of class are excellent – you can run around hugging strangers for all anyone cares. Well, sometimes they punch you. In the face. No masks, no lies . well, there’s that fake over-interest that comes when we find things out about new people that can’t really be classified as interesting.

“You’re from Podunk, too? Really? I’ve heard of a town kind of near there.” And the pleasantries continue.

I made friends my freshman year I wouldn’t have had contact with in high school – our masks sent out the clear message not to talk to one another, at least not in public.

Brains, jocks, clowns, drama dorks, choir geeks, band nerds, goth freaks. I was glad when I realized sometime during that year that people didn’t use the generic labeling system anymore. There was a more complex one, but at least it was easier to bypass.

This Halloween go against the flow. Don’t put on a cute little costume and pretend to be a monster you aren’t. Be the monster you are.

Been talking to someone all semester but you still don’t know their name? Tell them you have no idea who they are. That’s right – you’re insensitive.

Heard rumors a girl you like is really into S&M? Go on. Spank her gently and find out for sure. That’s right – you’re perverted and nosy.

Wondering why your best friend’s become infatuated with the campus loser whose lack of social skills and personal hygiene is beyond explanation? Ask the idiot what’s up. That’s right – you’re rude and controlling.

Reading a column in the Daily which you did not find up to par, particularly clever or witty, and generally devoid of any worth?

In that case, negate my advice – a Spongebob Squarepants or Casper the Friendly Ghost costume will suffice this year after all.

For the others, however, do not approach Halloween in the traditional tongue-in-cheek tonight-I-am-monster-tomorrow-I-am-angel attitude. Admit somewhere inside you is a monster gone dormant – a vain, petty monster. It got to thrive in high school.

Let it exist again, at least on this day of ghouls and goblins and the occasional cuddly teddy bear outfit.

Cavan Reagan is a junior in journalism and mass communication and English from Bellevue, Neb. He is the research assistant for the Daily.