THE 105 THINGS I LEARNED IN COLLEGE


As I stood off-stage in my graduation cap and gown, my mind was in turmoil over a big dilemma. Should I wear the funny nose and glasses, or should I wear the clown pin with flashing red eyes? After just completing my 14th year of college, you might think that I would have more intellectual things to think about ( but I didn't.

After deciding on the clown pin, I walked on-stage and received the ceremonial degree. Continuing off the stage, my mind did come up with a fairly grown-up question; did I learn anything during my college experience? I must have gained some sort of knowledge, but I couldn't put a finger on what it was. Then it hit me; I had learned exactly 105 things during my college years.

Since that graduation and that revelation, I have tried explaining to people how I ended up being stuck in my college rut for so long. The explanations always take the form of stories about people that I met in school and the stupid things that I did with them. The individual stories and explanations are successful in giving brief glimpses into the type of effort I had to put forth in order to accomplish such a drawn out feat. They do not, however, convey the true humor that must be considered in order to completely understand why my entrance into the "real world" took so long.

When my fourteen-years' worth of experiences are taken-in, collectively, a really goofed up experience can be understood. I think. In addition, I hope that others can use the things that I learned to escape some of the hazards that I fell victim to - especially the ones involving mentally challenged clowns.



(The tenth thing that I learned)


(10) If your roommates are going to be psychos, it's better to find out before you sign the lease

I guess when you have the opportunity to move into your first apartment, you are willing to overlook some easily predictable problems. I know I was guilty of it. Through my experience, I do have advice for people looking to move into new apartments: try to meet all of your roommates before you agree to move in. Unfortunately for me, I neglected to do that not once ( but twice. I must have had some sort of slow-learning affliction.

My first apartment contained two accounting majors who referred to themselves as Smyther and Jeffery. That reference was made in almost every conversation they had. "What channel should we change the television machine to, Smyther?" "I prefer the CBS network, Jeffery." Their only redeeming quality was that they were both 21 (I was only 19). They would make trips for me to the liquor store that was located conveniently across the street. Having them get me beer really wasn't a good enough deal though. Beer only numbs your hearing so much. It then simplifies the gag reflex when the Smyther/Jeffery tolerance limit is reached. "Who drank my milk, Smyther?" "It was someone other than I, Jeffery." They made me want to puke. Please get me a bucket, Jeffery. Could you wipe my upper lip, Smyther?

The roommate that I knew before I moved in was Kevin. He was one of my karate students. He didn't bother me at the dojo, but he did two things that irritated me away from it. First, he didn't warn me about the accounting twins, and second, he left me alone with them way too many times.

Kevin and I were college students, on college student budgets. With our small four-bedroom apartment located on the top floor, we discovered that if we left the heat off in our individually controlled rooms, the temperature would only get down to about 50 degrees. The heat from apartments below would keep our rooms at that temperature - for free. It sounded like a really good plan until the $120 heating bill came in the mail. As it turned out, while Kevin and I were suffering through the winter, Smyther and Jeffery were having a taste of the tropics. We discovered that the thermostats in their rooms were set to 80 degrees, even when they were gone for days at a time. That discovery almost led to advanced karate lessons for Smyther and Jeffery.

The evil duo did try to save some money on the cable bill though. They vetoed our plan to add HBO to our television lineup. It was finally decided that the two of us would pay for the extra channel, and the two of them would not watch it. Right, like that was going to work. Well, the part about Kevin and I paying for it worked, but Ip and Dip probably ended up watching it more than we did. We caught them watching our channel all the time. Due to their accounting major hand-eye coordination, we could walk in the front door and run a few laps around the apartment while they fumbled (in slow motion) for the cable remote control and looked for the channel buttons. Any normal male college student would first, have the remote in hand, and second, have the buttons memorized by feel ( they weren't normal.

What the bobsie boys did enjoy watching the most, though, was PeeWee Herman. I think they actually thought that PeeWee could hear them talk back to him through the TV set. They also enjoyed strange music. I walked into the apartment one night during some sort of party they were having that was focused on Kevin's stereo. They had invited a room-full of people over to listen to a children's alphabet album. It was a musical description of all of the letters, and they were listening to it in complete darkness. When I walked in the door and turned on the light, I was surprised to find a living room full of screwed-up accounting majors learning what the letter C looks like ( and I don't think any drugs were even involved. Do accounting classes cause mental problems in people, or do previously mentally screwed up people take accounting classes? That question may never be answered.