Dear Grad Student: An Exchange
Dear Grad Student,
Holy crap, where am I? Who’s house is this? Why was my first act upon waking to write a letter to my former TA? Why do I taste boxed wine and Cheez-its? WHO’S SOCKS ARE BUNCHED UP IN MY MOUTH?
Man, life is so crazy for us undergrads. We get to guzzle booze 23 hours a day, sing along with Ke$ha in the car, and spend all of our parents’ money on cigarettes we don’t even like. But now that I think about it, dad hasn’t had anything bigger than a five in his wallet for, like, a year. He also sobs gently way more than he used to. Hmm.
And now, there’s not even any classes to skip because it’s summer–that majestic time of year when the world is clogged with hornets and Eddie Vedder-isms, sunburns attack the throngs of poolsiders, and tits come out to play as if they’re two round, nipple-headed next door neighbors.
Although, my job at the golf course sort of eats up all of my gallivantin’ time. My trip to the tropics was canceled because apparently they’re only accepting money in exchange for airplane travel. And you wouldn’t believe the tips I get for cleaning and parking golf carts: None.
Geeze, all my big summer plans went right down the drain when I found all this out for this first time two days ago. If only I had a firm grasp on the wisdom of real life like you, grad student. As if getting into grad school isn’t a series of falling to your knees, hoping to bounce that 90 to a 93.
Yeah, I’m living it up this summer. Whether its the 4 am alarm clock to meet retirees at the tee with a sparkling clean golf cart, or the stench of gasoline on all my clothes, or the Facebook pictures of everyone else in the universe spending the summer fucking each other abroad, this will be the season I will remember when I’m old and deranged and drooling on myself.
Summer 2010: The summer of love! Love of grass clippings.
“No regrets!” I’ll shriek at my caretakers as they take away my empty feed-sack and roll their eyes. ”No regrets at all…”
And as I slowly slip into the dark confines of my mind riddled with gaping dementia-holes, I will seek refuge in the warm, sunny memories I have of watching my life degenerate into a gasoline-soaked life of service to former CEOs and private school administrators.
Really makes me respect what you do, grad stu–
Wait, what did you say about whores??
-Undergrad
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