Barely Legal

As another school year is upon us I am back to the dorms for another go around with the American youth.  College has been a weird experience for me so far.  This will be my fourth semester in four years.  I know Dad, I’m going really slow, just give me a little while I’m getting there.

But is seems no matter how long I’ve been here or how much I try to progress, every single semester I am surrounded by nothing but 18 year olds.  At 22 ½ I should be feeling young and gleeful about my youth, but since I am basically the only person with a car whenever I’m playing chauffer I feel like I am a mother taking the neighborhood kids to soccer practice.  I spend most of the drive shouting things like “Put your seatbelts on!”  “Don’t touch the radio!”  “Roll up your window and put your whole body into the car!” “I swear I will never give you a ride again if one drop from you juice box spills onto my seat!”

Dating is tough when you are four or five years older than everybody you associate with.  I went on a date with an 18 year old and part of the conversation went as such.   She asked me what I was afraid of.  After thinking for a moment I said “I’m afraid of the government either getting too much or too little power.  If it had too much we could lose a lot of the freedoms that we enjoy, and if it had too little it could lead to a lot of anarchy and vigilantism.”  After I made this statement I got this awkward vibe from her that sent the clear message that this was not the kind of answer she was looking for, so I added “I’m also afraid of heights.”  “Oh” she said “I’m afraid of bees.”

The thing about 18 year olds is they have yet to learn to go without the luxuries that you have while living with your parents.  For example this summer I roomed with a kid named Joe who was straight out of high school.  Him and I a couple of other guys who lived in the apartment had been given some hot dogs.  We decided to capitalize on the opportunity by having a barbeque.  While shopping for supplies we passed through the bread aisle and Joe tossed a couple of bags of hot dog buns into our cart.  The rest of us were like “Joe what the heck are these for?”  Confused, Joe replied “The hot-dogs.” Angrily and somehow in unison we all yelled “Joe!  Do you know how much these cost?”  “It says 2.50.”  “Exactly Joe! What do you think we’re made of money? Go back and grab the 88 cent loaf of white bread.”  Joe, still confused said “For hot dogs?”  Even more frustrated we replied  “Yes Joe! You take the slice of bread, you put the hot dog in the bread, you fold it and you eat it. And for heaven’s sake don’t you dare come back with any ketchup.  We have plenty of Wendy’s packets left in the fridge.”

Joe also tried to wash his clothes with dish detergent instead of the liquid hand soap the rest of us used.  Crazy kid got bubbles everywhere.

Every day I spent with Joe was like watching a newborn lamb wobble through the dew-laden field of life. Here is a word for word conversation I had with Joe one night in the kitchen.

Joe:  Whose ‘Shake Well’ is this?

Isaac:  What?

Joe:  In the fridge, the carton that says ‘Shake Well’ on it.

Isaac:  That’s orange juice, ‘Shake Well’ is the instruction.

Joe:  Oh, well can I have some?

Isaac:  Not anymore.