I should never be allowed to speak to adults. Oh sure, I'm technically an adult, but until I stop quoting Nickelodeon cartoons in research papers, I will continue to view myself as a non-adult. I'm not insinuating I'm immature (for instance, just yesterday I used the restroom without assistance) or that my body has yet to reach this so-called "puberty." I'm only saying that in my opinion, I am not ready to be an adult and do all the mature activities adults do -- namely, getting married, learning what taxes are and finding a career not involving circus animals.
My adult insecurities become explicit in conversations with older people, particularly professors. Every time I attempt to sound professional with a teacher, I somehow manage to convince him that I belong in kindergarten, not Nietzsche 589:
Me: Nietzsche is super-duper fun.
Professor: Please get out.
Me: Is it nap-time yet?
Professor: No. And please put your pants back on.
To overcome my childish personality, I end up having to "act old." This is the similar, though opposite, practice of older people "acting young" to fit in with the youth:
Old person: I'm hip. I'm cool. I listen to Kanye East. I like Reebok shoes too.
Young Person: Grandpa? Is that you? Are you playing Bop It?
So I attempt to "fit in" with my professors by acting stereotypically mature. For example, the following is an unofficial transcript of my last teacher-student conference, in which I attempted to imitate how adults talk:
Me: Did you see "Honeymooners" last night? I found it wretchedly comparable to an early Monet quaffing a Parisian vial of Shakespearean poison.
Professor: Please stop running around naked.
As you can see, no matter how much I try, I always expose my true nature. Some say you can never escape your past, and that's doubly true for me whenever there's an opportunity to run around naked.
These experiences have convinced me I need to grow up. Unfortunately for me, though, there is no course called "How to Have a Job Not Involving Circus Animals 202." I am devising, therefore, an independent study course titled "How to Grow Up 491" for next semester. Soon I will start pleading with professors to sign off on it. I hope one will take pity on me and at least let me into his office.
Before I finalize the syllabus, I do ask that you walk through the semester-long class with me. I would appreciate any and all criticism, as long as it's in no way negative.
Week 1: Introduction with icebreakers. Learn what not to eat in public (babies -- bad, food -- good, baby food -- debatable).
Week 2: Field trip to local amusement park.
Week 3: Watch a lot of "Frasier."
Week 4: Spring Break.
Week 5: Learn how to hold a steady job, or at least a job that doesn't pay in peanuts.
Week 6: Thanksgiving Break.
Week 6: Learn how to count.
Week 7: Conclusion. Recap about what not to eat in public.
I worry about the time and effort this class will require, but I need the credits. I also think it'll be beneficial for my maturity level. If by the semester's end I can correctly incorporate references to The New Yorker and "Uncle Tom's Cabin" in small talk with cashiers, then I believe this class will have prepared me for what modern man calls "maturity," and what non-modern man called, "able to kill mammoth without need of nap-time."
It was a simpler time back then.
Until the class is underway, however, I will have to accept that I am unprepared for future interactions with adults. If this devastating problem persists, I may have to postpone graduating in May, because I hear, from water-cooler gossip, that the "real world" is full of adults who know when and where not to get naked.
Entering this world scares me. The thought of consistently bringing up "Honeymooners" references sounds tiring, especially since I am not sure if "Honeymooners" is a classic TV sitcom or a cheesy pornographic film.
I have a hunch, though, that I will mature one of these days. I've actually been progressing rapidly since I started this article. Though before I would have been tempted to play Bop It 16 hours a day, now I've started to read The New Yorker on a daily basis. I don't really understand the magazine, but at least it has pictures.
Chris' column runs weekly Mondays. He can be reached at shuptrine@cavalierdaily.com.
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