Tuesday, June 2, 1998
Race to graduate sometimes just fastest track to nowhere
REALITY: Life after academia consists of nongraceful aging, desk
jobs, boring new locations
No offense to those of you who are, but I’m glad as hell that
I’m not graduating this month. Don’t get me wrong – I don’t want to
stay at UCLA forever, but we all know the real world is pretty
scary.
Everyone I know who’s already out there tells me to stay in
school for as long as I can. Real life sucks, they say. Work sucks,
they say. Non-student movie ticket prices suck, they say. So why
rush out, I say? A friend of mine who works at the UCLA annual fund
calling alumni says that roughly half of the grads he calls are
unemployed. My diploma will make a nice piece of origami.
My quick fix for the impending doomsday was deciding to go to
graduate school. I figure I can prolong real life for as long as
possible this way. Maybe I will even get my Ph.D. and become a
professor, just so I can stay in a school atmosphere. Maybe they’ll
let me live in the dorms! Besides, by the time I get my master’s,
doctorate and putz around in entry level jobs to become established
in my field (God knows what that is), it will be time to retire and
die.
And just think about working full time. We all want to avoid the
crappy 9 to 5 jobs, but who are we kidding? There are a damn lotta
desks in the corporate offices we all plan to run, and someone has
to play in the swivel chairs. Out of the 30,000 of us who are here,
one or two will end up at a desk. But not you, right? I hope you’re
right.
The most exciting post-graduation prospect is moving out of
Westwood. Now granted, I could pack up and head for Palms right
now, but who the hell wants to live in Palms? Plus, living out of
Westwood and schlepping to campus every day is just plain
inconvenient. Come graduation time, woo hoo! I can live in Marina
Del Rey, Pacific Palisades – wherever I want. The catch? My parents
will mistakenly assume that I am responsible and independent enough
to support myself. Who are they kidding?
And all the cool stuff that comes with domestic life as promised
is sure to be a letdown. Of course I want to buy the matching
dinnerware set from Crate & Barrel, but recent college grads
never have the money to do that. A new car would be nice; so would
a reality check.
Some people swear they’ll take a year off to be adventurous and
find themselves (in debt). I don’t buy it. I only know of one girl
who is literally traveling around the world by herself. The rest of
us engage in the risk of moving back home. Reminding your parents
that it has been four long years since your high school curfew can
be quite an adventure.
Besides the unappealing nature of real life, graduating is just
another sign of how much older we’re becoming. When I turned 20
last September, I almost had a stroke. I couldn’t stop thinking
that in 10 years, I would be 30! Now, it’s only nine! (For some
reason, I don’t think this year’s birthday will be as sobering, but
last year the finiteness of life really hit me).
All of a sudden, I’m supposed to worry about getting wrinkles
and wearing sunscreen under my make up every day. Who wants to put
more greasy junk on their face? I already use eye cream to combat
crows feet. Before I know it, I’ll be dealing with varicose veins,
arthritis and menopause.
And don’t even get me started about my lethargic metabolism. I
have to work twice as hard to burn half as much fat. My muscles are
atrophying. Can we get those liposuction drive-thrus slurping
already? Speaking of Slurpees, you know how your great-grandma
Rose’s sensitive teeth could never tolerate a Slurpee? Well I am
embarrassed to admit that even I, Slurpee goddess, actually got
brain freeze the last time I had one.
On top of that, I’m going blind. When I first came to UCLA I
couldn’t see the blackboard from the last row of a lecture hall. So
I bought my first pair of glasses for super big classes. Three
years later, I can hardly see what the prof writes on the board,
even while wearing my glasses and sitting in the front row.
When a friend calls my name from more than five feet away, I
have to squint to see who it is, and even then I can’t always see
his or her face. They mistake my squint for a glare, and then we’re
in a fight for no reason. All of a sudden, I find myself paying
closer attention to those laser eye surgery commercials. We are
talking serious geriatrics here.
Last month I went to my cousin’s wedding in Connecticut and came
to the startling realization that I am the next oldest cousin. I
almost died. Time to commit to someone for life? I don’t even have
a life!
What’s it like to be old and gray? To wear a girdle? To color
your hair or else put three cans of Aqua Net in it at night? I’ll
let you know when I approach those hurdles next week.
Or how about the joy of knowing you are turning into your
mother? When I heard my 14-year-old sister was wearing a long red
dress to her youth group banquet, I caught myself thinking, "Isn’t
that a little mature for someone her age?" The sad thing is that
even my mother didn’t think that; she bought the dress for her!
Someone get me the Clapper!
I seriously contemplate renewing the quest to find the Inverted
Fountain of Youth. (That’s why the seniors bathe in it.) I know the
explorers looked forever, but they didn’t have the Thomas Bros. web
site at their disposal. The URL is www.oldfolks.lookhere.com for
those of you who are interested.
I am really hoping it’s not all downhill from 21, but from what
I’ve heard, it is. Women fatten, men go bald, we all wrinkle.
Viagra and Phen Fen give you hope one minute and replace it with
some life-threatening condition the next.
Thanks to other, more legitimate medical breakthroughs, people
are living longer than ever! That’s great, but how much fun is life
after 70? Or even 60? Sure you retire and travel, but taking five
naps a day while backpacking though Europe is simply a waste of
time.
The only thing which is more depressing than you and me getting
old is old age hitting our childhood idols. I can’t get used to
this new earth mother Madonna – I want the cone boobs back of her
"Like a Virgin" days! Remember the way she used to prance around,
so adolescent in "Holiday" and "Lucky Star?"
So as seniors thank their own lucky stars while ironing their
graduation gowns, the rest of us sigh with relief knowing that we
have a few more years before putting our droopy butts into wedding
gowns, maternity gowns and hospital gowns.
Stephanie Pfeffer