I used to think Binghamton University was a big school.

With green behind my ears and hope in my heart, I came to school excited for a fresh dose of anonymity — a nice clean slate where I knew no one, and no one knew me.

I liked the idea of sitting down in a lecture, safely unrecognized, with no social obligation to anyone in a crowd of hundreds. School felt huge, excitingly intimidating, full of mysterious promise, like my final frontier.

But Binghamton has shrunk on me, like a new sweater that wasn’t dried right. What was once comfortably baggy is now form-fitting, maybe a bit tight across the chest. I still think I look OK in it, but it’s different. There’s less room to maneuver.

Inevitably, I met people, who also met people, who met even more people. As my personal web of social connections expanded, Binghamton began to seem smaller and smaller.

Of course, it’s a desirable and natural thing, making friends and all. Even if I appreciated not knowing anyone in class, having someone to shoot the shit with before the lecture begins is never a bad thing.

But there is a byproduct of assimilation into a college environment that, though benign, makes my Binghamton social life all the more confusing.

I have acquaintances now. Lots of them.

People I was introduced to months ago, but never spoke to again. People I sat next to in class. People who know a friend of mine but may not know me. That person I took shots with at a party once. The girl who needed directions a couple of weeks ago.

Acquaintances, God damn it.

They make the world seem a size too small and my walk to class weirder. I have no problem talking to strangers or actually meeting new people, but encountering people I sort of know … well, it’s hell for me, in 10 to 30-second increments.

It’s not like I’m shy or anything, or stiff in conversation. Quite the opposite, really. I’ve been known to dance on a bar or two, and I’m almost never at a loss for words. My grandma even says I’m charming.

But if there’s a rulebook on how to greet acquaintances, I’ve yet to read it. I’ve only committed infractions, false starts, late hits and personal fouls, with accompanying penalties of social awkwardness following swiftly.

To greet or not to greet? Who do I wave to? Did that person recognize me? Should I have said hi? These questions plague me every day, with every acquaintance.

Usually, when I recognize someone I sort of know, I avoid eye contact. At times, I’ll resort to the imaginary text message, the fake sneeze or find an outdated advertisement on the wall extremely interesting.

I treat acquaintances like so many Medusas. In a crowded hallway, eye contact is easily avoided, and death is averted. But if I’m on a bus, behind one on line or in an adjacent desk, I cannot simply walk way.

When eye contact is engaged, push comes to shove. It’s decision time. If I take the verbal approach, the clever greeting I imagined is usually a mumbled “How’s it going” that sounds more like “Ow, I’m flowing,” directed at no one in particular.

The physical approach leaves several options. There is, of course, the standard wave. My wave for acquaintances is a two fingered, lackadaisical loop-de-loop, that looks like I’m asking for the check and didn’t like the service. There is also the head nod for males, which is inexcusably pathetic. I usually avoid the hand slap by feigning contagious disease.

But my general rule of thumb is to ignore, because I seriously don’t know what else to do.

Who do I actually know? Who actually knows me? Are acquaintances, like wild animals, just as afraid to engage with me as I am to engage with them?

It’s highly probable that I’m over-thinking all of this. Still, as I meet more people and school seems smaller, there will be only more unpleasant encounters.

And if you know me and see me in the hallway every once in a while, and you’ve noticed I sneeze quite regularly in your presence, I’m not actually allergic to you. And I’m sorry.