Some people wear glasses to appear intelligent, and some prepare a clever question to ask in a large lecture hall, but I highlight. The highlighter is an essential part of the intellectual charlatan I aspire to be. Do I learn anything when I highlight? No. Do I go over reading material I have highlighted before tests? Of course not, that’s silly. I don’t understand what I’ve highlighted, anyway.
Do I highlight because it gives me a false sense of security while making me look busy and smart in front of my peers? A resounding yes. My only genuine use of the highlighter comes when I am hungry because, though somewhat toxic, highlighters are quite tasty.
The best part is no one has discovered my gift. I have perfected my highlighting act.
The process was tricky to learn at first. I spent a good three semesters preparing my academic con, highlighting unintelligible works ranging from James Joyce’s Ulysses to biology textbooks. I knew I had perfected my act when I successfully fake read and highlighted the complete Old Testament written in actual Hebrew. I then showed everyone, and they were amazed. After that successful exhibition of deceit, I knew I was ready to take this act to my college classes. It would change my life forever.
As anyone who has witnessed one of my performances knows, seldom do I read a textbook and know what the hell I’m reading. For one thing, no textbook is fun to read, and for another, textbooks are written in an intricate academic language so the author’s colleagues will be impressed, not so I will understand it. If I am to comprehend something in a textbook, it must be written in a 4-year-olds’ language. Say, for example, I am supposed to read the philosophical writings of Immanuel Kant. I open the book, and immediately put on a serious expression comparable to someone who has extreme stomach pains. For added effect, I may even nod my head while I read.
After getting warmed up, I bust out the highlighter, a.k.a. The Equalizer. My expressions and sweeping arm motions, if done properly, say ‘Look at me, I’m highlighting. I have absolutely no clue what I just read, but everyone thinks I understand Kant, and that’s good enough.’ Little does anyone know, but I am really highlighting complex words like ‘and,’ ‘the’ and ‘categorical imperative.’ Sometimes when I’m really lost, I slyly place a well-written R. L. Stine novel in front of the textbook and highlight that.
There is also a highlighting quota I must abide by to maintain my legitimacy. I don’t want to do it too much for fear that people will mock me for over-highlighting. When this does happen, I get that condescending look that says, ‘You are only supposed to highlight the most important things. What’s the point if you highlight the whole book?’ The person may think he has discovered my feigned intelligence, but no intricate plan is without its troubleshooting techniques. To this person’s attempted mockery I respond, ‘Who are you to say that this whole literary work is not important?’ That gets ’em every time. The act continues.
Often, however, if the act goes awry, I find I am not highlighting enough. This usually occurs when I make a genuine attempt at reading and highlighting a textbook. Sometimes my conscience tells me to do the right thing, and I put the act to rest. When I make this moral choice and attempt the sincere reading process, I often space out for over an hour, thinking about things like the skinny-dipper who died at the beginning of Jaws, cute little puppies and whether that person at the far end of the room is a man or a woman.
When I eventually come to, I realize I have breezed through 25 pages without highlighting. I don’t remember any of it, but at least I am almost done with the assigned reading. I recognize, however, that I must quickly jump back into my role as a pseudo-intellectual for fear that someone may find me out. I go back through the last few pages, highlight things, nod my head and squint. The potential problem is fixed, but it’s been a close call nonetheless.
When my highlighting plan comes close to failure, I consider the danger of my frantic lifestyle. My act is so perfect that a change is occurring inside of me. Sometimes I don’t know where Seth ends and ‘Pretend Scholar’ Seth begins. I fear they may be meshing with one another, combining to form a super-human entity I will be unable to control. If I should die an untimely death, please let my epitaph read: ‘Seth knew that people thought he was a really smart guy. That was the highlight of his life.’