I like to think of myself as a pretty intelligent dude. I graduated high school, for one; also, I ponder the deeper questions of the universe constantly, such classics as, “How long to cook macaroni and cheese?” and “Do dogs really love us, or are they more affectionate towards the food we give them?”
I’m on the average level of smart is what I would call it. Trust me, there’s no secret Will Hunting/Steve Jobs conspiracy going on behind closed doors. What I know is what I know, eh?
You getting me, folks?
Segway into college, and here we are at UCCS, one of the many centers of knowledge dotted across this gigantic blueberry of ours. Classes are long, packed; sometimes it doesn’t seem as if they have an ending–but, they do, trust me.
Now, this isn’t a complaint about college classes. Hear me out, I genuinely love this unstoppable access to knowledge that you can only find in a college campus; however, it’s some of the people in these college classes that have me confused, even lost, as to their motivations.
I know what you’re gonna say.
Well, why don’t you focus on your own life, not theirs?
Trust me. I am top priority…not in a creepy, arrogant way, but in–ah, forget it.
There are these types of people in my classes–I should say, specific types of people–that I observe when, yes, I should instead be listening to the lecture. You have to understand, though. I got a compulsion to watch people, to figure them out, and not in a stalkerish way, either.
For example, in my Politics class, there’s one dude who talks like he just walked out of a Brain Factory. One of his choice phrases is “pragmatically speaking;” and when he said it in class, I was thinking, well, hell, I forget what that means, but o-kay.
We are training to be scholars, after all, so give a guy a cheer, right?
Then there’s the people who, when an assignment is due–or, when we had to have read something–raise their heads and stare off into the abyss I like to call, The Oh-No-I-Just-Screwed-Up-Big-Time Abyss.
Four pages of math questions? Nope.
A diorama of the Crossing of the Delaware? No–and, for that matter, who’s doing dioramas in college?
I admit, I am in the Oh-No Abyss sometimes…more frequently in the past few days, but, that’s another story for another time.
Lastly, there is the smallest minority of college classes, the ones…who say nothing at all, have no expression, and take their notes like the dutiful students they are.
And I’m pulling your leg, in truth, because we’re all like that, at least I think so.
I have been known to sit and stare and note take–I mean, take notes; of course, all of what I just wrote when I am not drifting off into the treacherous bowels of my own mind and humming, to myself, the songs I heard on the radio that morning.
What’s a few Katy Perry ditties gonna hurt, huh?
The rest of the class is humming Katy Perry–I just know it; and if they say no, then they are all dirty liars.
And, oh, look at that, I created two new types of people in college classes–
Mind-Hogs and Pop Star Wannabes.
Ya do whatcha gotta do, man, ya do whatcha gotta do…