I wish I knew then what I know now

Obviously, if I had known that going to university would be a waste of my sweet, motherfucking time, I would never have gone, would I? What did I think university would be? Revenge of the Nerds 3: The Next Generation ? Yes, actually, I did. It wasn’t. University was Revenge of the Wankers, the end.

Granted, I did enroll in Creative Writing, and well, whatever, I recognize it as a boo-boo now, but what I did not — could not — anticipate was the tsunami of wankers that this would yield. I had a guy physically corner me to read me his poem inspired by his muse, which was an actual brick. The poem went:

brick

oh brick

there you are

in the wall

standing tall

but so small

oh bricky brick brick

brick

The poem, he explained, was simply called “brick”, and was part of an ongoing series he was writing about — yes, that’s right — that brick. What did I say in response to this? “Give me the brick right now, I want to use it to bludgeon you”? No. I only thought this, as he literally skipped away, laughing, slinging one hand around a tree, gazing up at it, musing, “Oh tree, there you are, standing tall, etc.”

My actual class required me to take off my shoes, sit on the floor and call out my name to the group. Bruce went first. “Bruce!” he cried. “Oh, excellent!” teacher said. “Again, again!” “Bruce! Bruce! Bruce!” Could “Bruce!” shut the fuck up? Apparently not. Bruce was a mature age student, who clearly believed this was his moment to shine. Whatever. My turn came. I coughed, rolled my eyes. “Mia,” I said. “I don’t think everybody heard that!” teacher said. (N.B. the teacher wore a bone in her hair). “I think they did,” I said. “No. They didn’t,” she said. “Now show me your passion!” “That was seriously it,” I said. Meanwhile, mature age defect was at it again, now screaming, “BRUCE! BRUCE! BRUCE!” “Yes, Bruce, yes, that’s good!” moron with a bone was urging him. But this was only the beginning.

Moron with a bone chose two students to act out a scenario. “You [pointing to one] want to get to the door, but you [pointing to the other] DON’T want her to get to the door. But you can’t talk to her or come within three feet of her. Now … go wild!” The two of them darted around the room like retards on fire until one of them (finally) reached the door. Teacher applauded furiously. “Oooooh! That was magical, guys! Now, who can pinpoint the moment at which that became interesting?” I put up my hand. “Uh, it didn’t?” “No, Mia. Now give the others a chance.”

My dream was to be elected student newspaper editor. I happened to know Solomon, who was putting together a ticket, and also a famous wanker. Solomon always had a new affectation — the pipe, the sombrero, the massive jumper (the jumper was the entire length of his body and looked as if somebody had spewed on it). I ran into Solomon on campus (he was shoe-less, leaning against a rock and looking up at the sky, as if to say, “Why?”) and expressed my interest in joining the ticket. Solomon was thrilled, and gave me an invitation to his house warming (it was encrusted with glitter, clag and read: “Bring a stencil!”).

I worked on our campaign full-time for four months, but was ousted by the party, when I wrote an editorial saying that if a certain Young Liberal wanted to be “taken seriously, she should stop wearing horizontal stripes”. Solomon turned up at my house, told me that the party had decided that I was, quote, “a stupid bitch”, then literally ran away.

Solomon won the election. True story.

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