Kelley Hungerford. Linfield has presented me with a menagerie of senselessness in the past. But from the bizarre town-and-gown separation to the ludicrous elimination of printing credit, no aspect of this college has stunned me more than the sheer stupidity and immaturity of some of its students.
Allow me to set a scene involving the fun fall catastrofuck that is returning to college.
The first night of classes delivered a beloved campus event: a comedian. Homework being minimal on the first day, students could go see him, get trashed or both. Those not yet aware of campus drinking outlets surely attended, and the inebriated showed their lovely flushed faces, too.
It made for a full tray of Ice. All the seats were filled, so Wildcats young and old — and drunk — cascaded into the aisles, the steps, the doorways and all over the house. Seated on the upper level in front of a short stack of ascending stairs, I sat patiently, ready to laugh.
The audience whooped as Ronnie Jordan trudged onstage. My IQ dropped as a group of Linfield ladies sat their alcohol-fragranced selves on the steps behind me.
The show began. Jordan was full of laughs and, likely, Big Macs, but all was in good, freshman eye-opening, welcome-to-college-let’s-talk-about-female-solo-“DJ” fun. The blitzed bunch behind me was not as entertaining.
Those girls were being rude. They were making a ruckus. Can I describe the ruckus? Yes. They were loud, I think talking on cell phones, laughing at Hellie knows what and disturbing the spectators around them.
I am a proactive, outspoken individual. The scenario could have involved me politely asking them to keep it down or go into the hallway. But since they happened to be three-sheets-to-the-wind upperclassmen who should have known better, I decided to be a proactive, outspoken bitch. I turned to them.
“Have you guys ever heard of a hallway? Shut the [expletive] up,” I whispered quickly. Jaws and IQs dropped. Could it be that, in their drunken stupor, they didn’t realize how bothersome they were being? Not that it matters, but I received a satisfied look from the gentleman in the chair next to the girls — a tanned man sporting a cross-country T-shirt.
The show went on. Quiet from the pack behind me was, not surprisingly, short-lived. I began to feel puffs of air on the back of my head. Were the girls waving white flags, stirring the air?
“C’mon, seriously?” Running Man said. I turned around to see him direct a disgusted look at the drunken dames and watch them unsuccessfully stifle their bubbly, alcohol-induced giggles.
After the show, Running Man and I made eye contact. It was then that I found out no white flags had been raised. According to Running Man, the girls had been trying to put chewed gum in my hair.
I pay $40,000 a year to go to preschool.
When do we grow up? I know at least one of the girls was a senior. Stupid may not be defined as having a low GPA or platinum blonde hair, but I can tell you for sure that “trying to put gum in another’s hair when you’re in college” falls into the definition of melodramatic immaturity.
I would like freshmen to take note of this: Use your Linfield experience to bolster your intellect and your maturity. This is the place to do it.
Unless there is some clandestine grassroots organization dedicated to the civic union of gum and hair, no one is going to hire anybody with that many cobwebs in the attic. Especially in this economy: There’s definitely not enough money to spare to hire tits without brains.
Be careful who you befriend and look up to at Linfield; those ladies aren’t the people you want to make friends with or emulate.
And to the idiots from the comedian, please take note of this: I know what year you are, I know what Greek organization you belong to and I know one of you by name.
Here’s mud in your eye, you bimbos.