My Life in Pictures
Some Unnamed Private University
Where the Poor Get Poorer... and Hopefully Smarter
Ah, college. Note the street car cables running across the photo. I graduated with a BA in history and a minor in religion.
Just not in 1898.
My school happens to be the oldest university in Minnesota. That bell tower building holds the administrative offices. I recall endless hours
in its basement trying to figure out my schedule.
And the building in front of it was incorporated into a larger building that holds the majority of classrooms. The old grand entrance became
an entrance to a gallery inside the building. It was rather cool looking.
I was never all that involved in college life, as I was working practically full time. I did live in the dorms (Manor, the oldest) for the
first year. I never once went to the commissary (or whatever you call it). Here's Manor:
It was the oldest dorm. And had a sink in every room, strangely. And the thinnest walls. Which meant I got to hear my RA having sex with her
boyfriend all the time. Which brings up a story:
It was Thanksgiving and most people were out of town with their families. My roommate and I were both locals, so we were left behind. I was
still asleep and my roommate was up and getting ready to leave.
The phone rang and I sort of woke up as my roommate answered the phone. She inquired if I was awake and then told me I had a phone call. I
bolted upright, completely confused, and said, "Is that a turkey gobbling?" She just starting laughing hysterically.
I answered the phone. It was my mother with details. I chatted for a few minutes and then hung up and looked at my roommate, confused as to
her laughter.
She explained that for the past half-hour our RA had been having sex and at the moment I woke up, her boyfriend was reaching... climax, and
he sounded like he was a dog being strangled.
I never looked at my RA the same. I heard they got married at the Renaissance Festival the next year. Which pretty much sums up her personality.
Another story: I had a pop culture class that I loved. Very interesting, great professor, very cool. Except that the students were generally
these "hipper-than-thou" students
who tended to think everyone not in their circle of friends were lame and stupid and generally uncool. They'd look weird at anyone who deigned
to raise their hand in class.
Unfortunately for me, the professor apparently thought I had some good ideas (from my writings; I never raised my hand) so he would
ask a question, hipster kids' hands would be raised, and he'd say, "Claire, what do you think?"
Always terrified me.
I am not a brave person, you see.
So one day, the lecture was on daytime versus primetime programming. Namely: soaps versus sitcoms. The professor pointed out that soaps have
multiple and small plot endings throughout episodes—or climaxes—whereas primetime sitcoms have one final big climax at the end of
each episode.
Obviously referencing sex and orgasms being different for men and women. The whole class laughed. I got an amusing thought into my head and
tentatively raised my hand.
He called on me and I posited, "Isn't it possible that it seems like the soaps have multiple small climaxes but instead they're
really fake and not climaxes at all?" Or something.
AND NOBODY LAUGHED.
I had never been so mortified. I turned red, the prof made a quick comment to end the awkward silence, and the class continued.
The hipster dorks hated me from then on.
Er. Hated me more, I guess.
Later that night I attended a lecture at school and was seated next to my advisor, who happened to be the husband of aforementioned pop culture
professor.
I told her my story and mentioned how stupid I felt that no one got the joke about women faking orgasms. She looked at me and said, "Are
you kidding? He told me your joke at dinner and we were cracking up like crazy."
I felt better. Stupid hipster dorks.
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