Tuesday, May 5, 1998
Bullies, brats, toys and other joys of UCLA
BEHAVIOR: Unruly kids pose as students, create chaos on
campus
Welcome to UCLA, the University of Children Lacking Attention.
Now sit down, zip your lips and listen to Ms. Pfeffer tell you a
story. Anyone who misbehaves gets a time-out …
Once upon a time, in a land marked by the towers of Royce and
the pinnacles of Kerckhoff, children frolicked happily down Bruin
Walk. At least that’s how things looked to naive spectators. Only
those who actually made it inside the cave of the mighty Bruins
knew the truth: This university was populated by enormous babies.
Immature adolescents romped rampantly in every corner of the giant
kinder-campus, from Dickson to the dorms and back.
And every year, the average GPA (General Peevishness Among us)
of the incoming freshman class rose.
The End.
The end?
You don’t need to hear my story. You know exactly what I’m
talking about. It all started when you were little …
Remember when you were in elementary school and you made fun of
Laura because of her weird mole or of Nick because he picked his
nose and his pants were always falling down? I know, I did it too –
kids are bastards.
But then, somewhere down the road, your mom and dad told you it
was mean to do that and you learned not to tease other kids – even
those who wore the same Strawberry Shortcake socks every day.
Years later, when Three Blind Mice are "out" and Third Eye Blind
is "in," many of you forgot to apply those childhood lessons to
daily life.
Just think of the way people treat the guy in class who always
sits in the front row, the one who asks tangential questions and
kisses the prof’s ass and calls attention to himself. Most students
do not know how to respond to these lively creatures.
Every time one of these supposed dorks opens his or her mouth,
people groan, laugh and murmur disapprovingly, just like they did
in elementary school. Like Oscar the Grouch, you sneer and jeer and
speak in harsh angry tones about how obnoxious, stupid, clueless
this freak is.
Clearly, you are anything but a dork. You’re a handsome, buff,
gallant young dude with your mind on your money and your money on
your mind. But don’t you know how to respect those who cannot
achieve your same level of coolness?
What will you do when you rise to the position of authoritative
male CEO, running a company of dorks who actually know how to use
the computers?
And students don’t just treat their peers badly. They act like
idiots toward anyone, as long as it’s not one of their bosom
buddies or a party-date hopeful.
For example, one of my TAs this quarter is a spunky guy. And
yes, he may laugh a little too loud a little too often. How do
students respond? Like 12-year-olds, who think it’s fun to be mean.
They laugh at the TA laughing. They laugh because their friends
laugh (group think).
One obnoxious girl (who spends the entire two-hour class period
examining her split ends) puts her hair away long enough to make a
private joke between her and me at the TA’s expense. I ignore her.
The rest of the class calls him Richard Simmons (because they envy
his aerobic prowess).
UCLAdolescents also direct their silly behavior toward
professors. One day, a guest lecturer took over for our usual
professor only to be met by disgruntled students who ignored and
talked over him. He could have been a Nobel Laureate for all we
knew, but he got no respect. It was like being on Stephanie’s
Excellent Adventure; I was beamed back to junior high.
Remember when you were 15, and you had a substitute teacher? You
did that motion with your hand and said "Yessss!! A sub!" really
loudly and then dared to eat your bagel at your desk to rebel
against the system. Sitting in Dodd, I counted the seconds until
someone asked to play Heads-Up 7-Up.
Or how about this? One of my professors posts every overhead he
uses on the class web site for students to print out and bring to
class. Great plan, right? We barely have to take notes; it’s so
convenient. But yesterday, he goofed and forgot to put three slides
on the web. The other 800 were there.
Excuuuse him. Well, students found it unacceptable,
reprehensible, contemptible. Come class time, I swear I thought
there was going to be a riot.
People were booing and hissing, complaining that he was a jerk,
and how dare he cause them so much hardship? I thought I was in
hell. Then I realized it was just another day at UCLA.
Let’s not forget to mention what gives childhood its good name:
toys. UCLA kids can’t get enough of their pagers, laptops, water
bottles and flip flops. My personal fave is the latest toy to hit
the lecture circuit: cell phones.
Welcome to the collegiate version of Tickle Me Elmo. But forget
talking to a stuffed ball of pink fuzz; now you can talk to a real
live person who’s in the lecture hall next door! And that’s exactly
what a student in my class did the other day. Ring, ring … She
fumbles through her diaper bag … ring, ring … The baby sitter
stops lecturing … ring … ring …
She answers then calls her roommate on three-way. "So ya gotta
tell me – who is Bobby sitting next to today? Can I borrow your
boob sweater for my date tonight? Either of you got a fresh piece
of gum?"
Even the group dynamics learned during childhood haunt us here
at UCLA. Remember the cliques at your earlier schools? They, too,
have manifested themselves in collegiate life.
Maybe you had a cool-kid club that met in the tree house or
fort. Or a teddy bear club. A Barbie club? What about the racist
club? The pay-to-join-and-buy-your-friends club? That was the Greek
system in elementary school; you paid 45 cents a week and the
pretty girls would talk to you. Maybe you could even eat lunch with
them – but that would cost you another dime. And the damn bully
stole your milk money.
Another UCLA trademark from the fourth grade is the disease of
friend dependency that infects our precious student body. Thank God
most of you don’t hold hands anymore, but the whole "dressing the
same" deal makes me feel eternally trapped in Twin Day of sixth
grade Spirit Week. Some people can’t be without a pal, a buddy or a
partner in crime for five minutes!
Look at those people who insist on saving seats for their
friends even though the class has started and the prof is already
lecturing. Not another vacant seat around? "So sorry, but I am
waiting for my friend. She periodically wipes my ass during this
class, and I would be at a loss without her." Okay, screw you.
By the end of lecture, the person who looks like the schmuck is
not you – sprawled out in the aisle, using your lunch box as a desk
– but the royal seat-saver, whose friends decided to stay home and
braid their My Little Ponies’ hair or transform their Gobots. All
of this after telling 10 people not to sit in their high
chairs.
In the truly advanced stages of friend-dependency, people might
ask you to move (even if you are totally settled down, pencil
poised, crossword ripped, perfectly aligned so you can see the
board despite the watermelon head smack in front of you) just so
they can sit in a row with their friends.
I once had someone ask me to move over to make room for her and
her friends to sit together during a test. I said, "It’s a test!
Why do you need to sit next to your friends during a freakin’
test?" Please tell me they have a 12-step for this at the new
health center.
Then we have those children who yell at the chancellor, have
strikes and sit-ins and storm Murphy. What an uncanny resemblance
they bear to spoiled infants who throw temper tantrums when they
don’t get what they want. Waaaahh.
This immaturity bleeds into the surrounding area as well. The
other night I saw "Object of my Affection" (Ridiculous movie, not
even worth $3 to rent – maybe when it falls in the five nights for
99 cents category.).
Anyway, the audience is made up of mostly UCLA students (who
else would come to raging Westwood on Sunday night?). In the middle
of a cheesy love scene between two gay men, they lean in for a kiss
and the theater erupts into disgusted groans. Come on, people! Are
we living in the ’50s, here?
You can’t expect to walk into a mainstream movie with a gay
subplot and not see a kiss! How disappointing to see this from a
school that prides itself on diversity.
I could go on and on from now until nap time, but I don’t think
that’s necessary. You all know what I mean. About the only things
missing from this day-care center are giant cubbies, warm milk and
paste.
Wait – we’re also missing finger paints. It’s a good thing, too,
because the graffiti would be a horrendous display of closed minds,
selfish thoughts and total toddler mentality.