College: The Best Years of My Life

As I try to enjoy time away from the prison of what is Johnson and Wales University, I figured, given the two hours or so I’m stuck on my Amtrak train featuring a perfuming stench of raw red onions, and a nearby physiatrist approved comfort ferret, self-reflection upon the last four months of college might be an interesting topic to cover. I’m not going to sugarcoat my experience; I wholeheartedly disapprove of my collegiate undergoing. It’s too expensive for its value. I feel out of place constantly due to my lack of neck tattoos, a severe incoherence of understanding New Jersey “culture,” and an absence of friendship for not embracing cultivation of codeine sipping trap rappers. This was nothing but expected. For someone who lives the life of a love-deprived 80-year-old on Zoloft, optimism was neutered a long time ago.

To put in perspective of what I’ve endured the last couple of months, it would be best to focus upon my eating habits. Consuming six pieces of pizza daily should have been something clearly against the little form of conscious I have left. It wasn’t. Pizza at Johnson and Wales doesn’t just come with your typical accoutrements of maybe, let us say, cheese, sauce, and pepperoni. Pizza at Johnson and Wales comes with tablespoons of grease that clear any form of negative emotion away and add quickly to your physique. I’ll first start with just one piece, mainly gravitating towards pepperoni as there is something about processed mystery sausage that is comforting and profoundly American. When I’m eating cafeteria college pizza, the first thing I want to be reminded in times of despair is how patriotic I am. A patriot doesn’t wait for their pizza to cool down. No, a patriot attacks a slice with no remorse head-on, clearly ignoring facts like hot processed bag cheese disguised as “mozzarella” will indeed burn the upper roof of your mouth causing blistering as the grease makes contact with the little-untouched flesh that remains. A patriot will ignore all reasonable sanitary rules as napkins were never in the picture in the first place anyways. God gave us ten permanent napkins that we’ve been using for thousands of years, so why stop now?

On another note, before my roommate dropped out of college due to the fact Johnson and Wales was a bunch of “Bullshit,” I proposed the idea of illegally purchasing alcohol on eBay as a minor while having it addressed to our dorm room. An idea I had thought hard but not at all long about, I thought it was indeed foolproof as I am no fool. To complete such a stunt, I would only need to set up a PO Box outside of the one I already had at school which realistically would only cost $100 or so. If such a stunt worked, PHHH, I would be in the league of professional cool kids like the angel wing neck tattoo wrestler or the other wrestler named Issa that thought it was a good idea to bring hash to orientation. To gain the respect of such elites, I wouldn’t even have to join the wrestling team; I could just set up an outside PO Box to illegally buy alcohol from unknown buyers off of eBay and potentially risk getting arrested. So I approached Rob and in his words, not mine, claimed: “That’s a terrible idea.” Well, Rob is probably a lightweight when it comes to drinking anyways.

If I was smarter with myself three years ago and took high school academics somewhat serious maybe I would be enjoying myself with an art school lover, with a nose piercing, numerous bedroom tapestries, bangs, and love of Jack Black, but no. I now deal with a new breed. A breed in which a sense of humor is developed from anything Barstool sports would ever tweet about.