I'm happy to report that I survived my first semester. I even managed to pull off a respectable GPA. All while in a near-constant state of Whippersnapper Rage.
I'll share my top three moments of the ole WR:
1. My very first class was in one of those 500-person auditorium-style rooms where the professor has to wear a microphone because he legitimately cannot be heard from the nosebleeds without it. I ended up in the aforementioned section because I didn't know any better yet, and was amused initially by how many laptops swung open before the class even started. About a half hour into the lecture I began to be distracted by numerous Facebook homepages shining out of the screens in front of me. People were updating their status, flipping through pictures, even chatting. At one point the professor talked about the five most annoying habits of other students, which included cell phones ringing, noisily leaving the lecture hall five minutes before class ends, and PLAYING AROUND ON FACEBOOK DURING LECTURE. One girl in particular continued to obliviously scroll through photos and status updates as the prof was reading this bullet point on the slide. This was the moment I realized that I was legitimately dealing with a separate, completely incomprehensible generation.
2. One morning I was sitting in the same classroom, waiting for lecture to start. Two girls sitting next to me were having a conversation, as well as another pair in front of me and a pair behind me. In the ten minutes or so before class started, I heard the word "like" approximately 600 times. I really should have started a tally. Also, why is it that teenage females sound constantly exhausted/stoned? Like the very act of speaking takes every ounce of energy they have. And every clause ends with an upturn? as though they are asking a question? All I can guess is that the life of a modern teenager/early-twentysomething is both incredibly difficult and very confusing.
3. During my Film Studies class, Fridays were spent screening the movie we would then discuss the following week. This class was held in a room which resembles a small movie theater. For some reason, near the end of the semester as we watched Three Kings, one of the students thought it was perfectly appropriate to bring in a giant bag of potato chips and, in the middle of the dramatic interrogation scene, crackle the bag open and begin stuffing his maw with handfuls of Doritos. I would like to add that this snorfling Neanderthal had apparently never learned to chew with his mouth closed. For about twenty minutes of the movie all I could hear was CRACKLE CRACKLE CHOMP CHEW SNORF CHEW CHEW. It took every ounce of self-control not to get up, walk over to the little dicksmack, tear those chips out of his hands, and beat him with the bag while screaming THIS. IS. NOT. YOUR. DORM ROOM. YOU FUCKING DOUCHENOZZLE.
Next semester I'm considering riding a Rascal Scooter to school, just so I can run them over with it when the nonsense starts.