It’s a sweet time to be a 27-year-old college student. I’m wandering around campus with friends a decade younger than I am, meaning I was in fifth grade when they were born! They look up to me. It’s interesting getting asked to buy them beer, I suppose, and although “age ain’t nothin’ but a number,” cops don’t think so — at least when it comes to alcohol and the likes. Besides, the idea of being like my step-dad Todd makes want to fall down a well like Samara from “The Ring.” Alas, here are five tongue-in-cheek reasons why coming back to school each semester is dope.


I’ve Built Up Steam
The first day back onto campus is a fog — not so much from the six toaster strudels I ate, but from the gnarly second-hand inhalation from the vapers. Those devices are from the future, bro. All the newest vape kings and queens share their vegan poppy-seed-flavored vapor in the non-smoking areas, which includes the walkway in front of the children’s daycare center. No one stops them. Not even the top security guards on Segways. My buddy Chad thinks they’re “mad safe.” (The jury is still out on that, Chad.) Still, with devices that look like RoboCop’s arm, confiscated hard drives, or a real cigarette, it’s worth the risk! Vape me, bro!


Book ’Em!
I’m happy to supplement my professors’ paydays by purchasing books they’ve authored — especially, when it’s a required text on the syllabus they’ve created. I don’t feel robbed in any way. I especially love when I’m asked to purchase the 7th edition, which has been updated from the 6th edition with two whole sentences in a footnote. Imagine the academic maze I’d have to navigate without the fresh, $275 version! (Real question: Are they all marketing grads? Robber barons, perhaps?)
Indie Music Live, All Day & Night
I know that I’m going to love a class when I see a bright young prodigy sitting on the table with their feet on the chair, strumming the uke. Self-proclaimed artists are the height of intellects, which explains why they rarely go to class. Their cover of a Fetty Wap song reassures me that the end isn’t near. Apocalypse now? Apocalypse never when they make the introduction of philosophy class weep tears from trap-queen heaven.


Financial Aid Needs More Aid
I go hype-beast when there’s a two-day wait in the financial aid office. It’s nice that they keep their phone lines busy. I get it. They all know I don’t have anywhere to be. I quit my job to be able to book with them. I bring my Bananas in Pajamas sleeping bag, two cans of Spam, a two liter of Tab, a television, and a VHS player with Sinbad’s “Shazaam” stuck in it because I put petroleum jelly in it. (Or does that movie exist only in my imagination? Google the conspiracy theory — it’s a real thing.) At any rate, financial aid boggles the mind almost as much as finding evidence that “Shazaam” ever existed.


Sidewalk Balk
There’s no sidewalk etiquette on college campuses. It’s the best. When someone is texting while walking and bumps into me, I blush. It’s the only affection I get from any living being (other than from my cat after I give him chicken of the sea). When someone is walking like a slug on the sidewalk, I don’t want to pour salt on them and watch them disintegrate. I’m happy that their college experience is full of leisurely walks and an existence solely based on themselves — that’s how elections are won. And when a stranger bumps into me and wants to throw down? “POP OFF, BRO!” It’s everything to me. I couldn’t imagine life without a long rap sheet of felonies for sidewalk World Star moments.
Happy School Daze!

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