Aaron R. Davis
Dear ungrateful brats,
Well, as I write this, it’s the first day back at college after a week of Spring Break. It’s also the first day of spring, but don’t try to wrap your head around that one. You had a break, and it’s spring, and those things are in close enough proximity.
I don’t know what you guys were out doing all week and, honestly, I don’t care. I was too busy being happy you were all gone to wonder about it. Too busy enjoying the quiet of my normally student-infested apartment complex. Too content being the only apartment in my specific building who was actually home, listening to my music as loud as I wanted, instead of being subjected at one in the morning to the soothing strains of Lil’ Wayne or, gods below, Justin Bieber.
It was so quiet in here that I could actually sit with a cup of coffee and read a paper without hearing idiots trying to drag race in the parking lot (which is, like, totally a great and fun idea in a lot full of speed bumps). The same parking lot where I could actually find a space in front of my building, instead of having to park a block away because some Jersey Shore wannabe is having his friends over for cheap beer and incoherent drunken screaming from the balcony. I didn’t miss the regular Thursday night parties for one second. Instead of simmering and hoping that you all become so drunk you’ll fail all of your finals, I didn’t have to give any of you a moment’s thought.
Nothing but purely selfish relaxation, the way we all want life to be and too often only is in our dreams.
It’s times like these that you really appreciate that the best times in a college town are when all of you little fuckers are gone. No assholes from out of Chicago zipping too fast along 35 mph roads. No crowding at the diner by football fans wearing the college team’s colors and talking strategy as though they actually play on the team they can’t get on. No douchebags in backward caps — I don’t even know why that bothers me anymore, it just does.
The ability to order a pizza and get it delivered within 15 minutes because the guy doesn’t have to stop at every apartment along the way to deliver 100 more. Shorter lines at McDonald’s because a bunch of brats aren’t in line for their pre-fifteen-minutes-late-to-history-class coffee. No inane school newspaper with its really important editorials on treating people more nicely or how only terrorists should be complaining about new campus security measures.
And best of all, no air of entitled youth emanating from every corner.
None of your pushy, shovey, I own the world and everything in it bullshit. None of your unapologetic, pronoid me-parades. None of your my-parents-didn’t-spank-me-enough bragging and thugging and fake gangsta-ing and douching up the place. Each year, I enjoy your absence more and more.
The town — nay, nature itself seemed to enjoy your absence just as much. The clouds went away and the sun came out, as if it knew somehow that it wasn’t going to look down on the place and get depressed at the sight of a thousand pretentious business majors crawling the earth. Temperatures reached as high as 58 degrees, and when I opened the window to let in the sheer joy of nature, I wasn’t greeted with poorly-played guitar solos or that passing car every town has that can’t seem to get its speakers playing loud enough.
And as the temperatures rose, so did our spirits, lifting with the pleasure that only the near-total absence of college hippies and their BO/patchouli stink, dirty faux-dreadlocks and Dave Matthews music can bring. And while the head shops may have missed you, those of us venturing into local butcher shops and co-ops most certainly did not. We breathed through our noses for a change, and we loved it.
Yes, while you me-monkeys were out on a beach somewhere drinking yourselves blind and date-raping co-eds, we lived, damn it. We lived for us. We breathed the air deeply and felt the sun profoundly and drank coffee robustly and laughed boisterously and put on our Beach Boys records without having to turn them up even louder to compete with G4. And we may have even shed a brief tear because we knew it wouldn’t come again for another year. Or at least until most of you assholes go home in the summer.
But now you’re back, and even nature hates it. The temperatures are back in the thirties. The thunderstorms have come in, and the wind blows a chilly, piercing blow. The sun is no longer shining. There is noise every second. You are once again walking the streets and cluttering up the McDonald’s and writing your op-ed pieces about how allowing guns on campus makes sense and generally being stupid in the way that the world only forgives because you’re a young, inexperienced, generally moronic college student. Enjoy it while it lasts, because we expect you to work for a living when you’re out. No more spring breaks. No more hippy cosplay. No … you will turn into me. And one day you’ll hate the college kids who walk around like they own the world and play their music too loud and think getting puking-drunk is fun.
Still, you kids had your fun in the sun for a week, and now you’re back to the grind and the early classes and the expectations … and it’s raining out. And knowing that you’re all being given a miserable dose of reality this morning is something I really enjoy. It’s the cherry on top of the banana split of your absence.
Welcome back, assholes. Welcome back and get to work.
Aaron R. Davis lives in a cave at the bottom of the ocean with his eyes shut tight and his fingers in his ears. You can contact him at firstname.lastname@example.org.