Snapshot
An hour and a half until my next class, and I can't quite get into the Owen King short story.
I glance out the window and think about how young they all are, and how they all think they're so old and mature. Do they all smoke? It seems like it, just like in France. Her t-shirt says Two boyfriends are better than one, and I think to myself, "I'm sure she thinks she's brilliant," then wonder when I became so bitter about silly things.
I get up to refill my water bottle and on my way to the fountain, I pass an older student with frizzy, shoulder-length, platinum hair. The hair has purple highlights that frame his face. He's wearing a chainmail vest over a black t-shirt. He looks at me and I give him a closed-mouth smile as I pass.
At the water fountain a bit of water splashes on my fingers. The water is warm. Suddenly, the arc of water drops down so I quickly adjust my bottle to meet it, just as it begins to slowly rise again. "Somebody flushed," I think to myself.
"Why are you here?" the Sociology professor asked me this morning. Indeed. Why am I here? "Why are you here? Are you here to make more money? Most people go to college to make more money. Is that why you're here?"
Rather than tell him the truth, I just said, "Sure."
An hour and 18 minutes until my next class.
I glance out the window and think about how young they all are, and how they all think they're so old and mature. Do they all smoke? It seems like it, just like in France. Her t-shirt says Two boyfriends are better than one, and I think to myself, "I'm sure she thinks she's brilliant," then wonder when I became so bitter about silly things.
I get up to refill my water bottle and on my way to the fountain, I pass an older student with frizzy, shoulder-length, platinum hair. The hair has purple highlights that frame his face. He's wearing a chainmail vest over a black t-shirt. He looks at me and I give him a closed-mouth smile as I pass.
At the water fountain a bit of water splashes on my fingers. The water is warm. Suddenly, the arc of water drops down so I quickly adjust my bottle to meet it, just as it begins to slowly rise again. "Somebody flushed," I think to myself.
"Why are you here?" the Sociology professor asked me this morning. Indeed. Why am I here? "Why are you here? Are you here to make more money? Most people go to college to make more money. Is that why you're here?"
Rather than tell him the truth, I just said, "Sure."
An hour and 18 minutes until my next class.
posted by Diva at 12:41 AM
1 Comments:
Oh man, this is going to be an experience.
We live in Ann Arbor, home of University of Michigan. I work in the student union building. I'm at that weird stage of not-there-anymore but not-far-enough-removed that being around them is just excruciatingly annoying.
They are sooooo much younger than I ever remembered. They also seem to have a lot more money--there are no 30-cent-a-cup coffee shops anymore so everyone drinks expensive coffee, everyone has laptops, everyone has cell phones...no one goes to class in their PJs anymore.
Kids today.
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