SUBURBAN LEGENDS: Welcome To The 14th Grade

So here we all are, in college. That’s right, we’re finally out of the house and into the dormitories. We can stay up late, play videogames all day and eat ice cream for dinner. This is what being an adult is all about, or so I understand. But then we have to go to these things called classes, and there we are kids in the 14th grade staring at the clock and doodling in our notebooks. The fact of the matter is even as we bask in the freedom and independence of college, we all remain students in the final legs of the educational marathon. It seems like every aspect of college has already been analyzed to death — except the classes. We know the difficulties of using the cafeteria waffle maker and the problems with dorm elevators, but what’s the deal with all this education stuff? Good question.

First of all, let’s start off with the most important part of class: socialization. Unlike high school, you only see most of the guys and girls in your class for a few hours a week, and those hours tend to be all business — well, either that or naptime. So most classes initially fall into one of two categories: those with people you know and those where you need a “Hi, my name is” name tag just to make small talk. When you know people in the class, you’re all cool because you can sit with them and laugh at all the people who look more out of place than Michael Jackson at an NAACP convention. Otherwise it takes some work to get to know people, especially as most students are halfway down Commonwealth Avenue within five seconds of the end of class.

College students are antsier than your apartment bathroom, loudly stuffing their books into their backpacks as soon as a professor gives even the slightest indication that he or she might be preparing to eventually end class sometime within the next half hour. Somehow having to take an extra 10 seconds to put away a notebook after class is unacceptable. If only a bell rang to signal the end of class, then we’d have even more mass chaos. Of course, there are always a few students, let’s be honest, whom no one would really mind seeing get trampled in the ensuing stampede down the smoke-filled steps of CAS.

Why is it that in every class, there’s at least one person who has apparently already taken the course for the last five consecutive semesters? While you’re struggling with the poems of John Donne, this guy is dusting off his notes from John Donne 101. While you’re trying to explain what you thought of Hamlet, this guy would like to compare, if he may, the themes of Hamlet with those of the great Norwegian tragedies. Then there’s inevitably the stupid one who, like, totally didn’t get last night’s readings. She’s the one who, when Tom Brokaw comes to visit, asks him if he, like, knows where Katie Couric gets her hair done. Well, if there’s one thing I like about BU, it’s the diversity.

Let’s talk professors. When your Computer Science 101 teacher is an aspiring actor, rock musician and lawyer, you know you’re in for a trip. This is not Mrs. McCalahan from fifth period social studies here. At BU, many of your professors have had valuable real-world experience, such as failing to get a book deal with Random House or appearing for 15 seconds in a cut scene from Bubble Boy. Many of them will also tell you sad stories of how they are now relegated to teaching at BU, forced to leave that “grand institution across the river” to collect a heftier paycheck from Mr. Silber and friends. Actually, these people are not your professors, but pod people deployed by the shadow conspiracy that runs the school. You’ll get a lot of, “The Department is very concerned about grade inflation,” or, “The Department wants to cut back on class sizes.” Well, what in the name of Buddy Lee is the Department, and why won’t they give me an A- in PH 357?

You’ll get to ponder these questions while playing with the Indiglo button on your watch as you sit in the picturesque basement of the sociology building — that is, if you can even make it to class in the first place. After a hearty breakfast of nachos and root beer, the average BU student dons his anti-wind armor and prepares to leave the safety of his or her dorm room for the deadly game of human Frogger that is getting to class. Oh, and don’t forget to make your bed. You know, to keep your room clean. I remember my dad used to yell at me every morning to make my bed. I don’t think any of my suitemates even knows how to make a bed. Well, in any case, it’s the same old routine: Curse the alarm clock (even if my first class isn’t until 12:30), roll out of bed, hop in the shower and so on. OK, so maybe college sometimes feels more like an extended stay at sleepaway camp than another year of school. Then we pay $400 for books and realize otherwise. Welcome to college, grades 13-16.