 | Katie Hutchins |
|---|
OK, fine, let's see you write a column every week. It's not that easy, you know.
Picture this (as I'm sure many of you can): You're a senior. You just got to be old enough to drink. You go to Ashley's for dinner (they actually have good calzones - it's not just for the beer) and end up drinking a porter. And a lager. And maybe a "specialty beer" or two. And of course they don't card you, because, after all, you're 21. (Nobody who's 21 ever gets carded.)
You get incredibly disappointed because they have absolutely no Janis Joplin on the jukebox. You indignantly leave the bar and take the next natural step: You go to the Angell Hell computing site. Hell, being more hellish than usual, considering they decided to knock out all the windows and doors on the precise day the weather turns from sweltering to freezing.
You have about a million grad school, job and scholarship applications to tend to. Not to mention a few 10-page research papers and a couple of books to read. Oh yeah, and you promised to tutor some at-risk kids on the side.
You've been looking at Times/12-pt./Normal on the computer screen for way too long and words like "budget" start to look like "butterfly" and "buzzing." You switch to Courier.
It's your senior year: All your hopes, dreams and fears are coming to a head. Everything you've planned your entire life centers on what you type into one little computer, how quickly you can finish it, and whether FedEx is open that day.
You're exhausted and you've been kicked off all the computer chat lines and all your friends have gone to bed. Which doesn't matter anyway, because you haven't seen your friends in weeks.
They're all taking GRE courses, meeting graduation requirements, and working real jobs to prepare for getting kicked off the parents' payroll.
You try to page the important friends (the ones important enough to have pagers), but unfortunately, you're at a pay phone. Cottage Inn laughs when you call at 2:55 and the obnoxious worker on the line says they're closed because he wants to get stoned.
There is nothing left to do but write, write, write until Bruegger's Bagels opens.
Most of the other freaks have gone home by now; after all, it's not finals week or anything. It's simply the time for seniors to deal with reality. It's the season to be completely nuts. Because no matter how many late nights you've spent, how many all-nighters and crying fits you've had, nothing can possibly compare to the fact that this is real life now. That if you don't get your shit together now, you'll be another one of those pathetic alums who graduated a few years ago and still wanders around campus hoping to get into TKE parties.
Now picture this (remember, this is my world I'm describing, not yours): You write your column. You leave Angell as the sun is rising, go to school late, and tell the instructor that yes, this week's paper has to be turned in late too. You check your e-mail at the end of the day and get a hostile complaint from a former hockey player who protests your contention that goalies should be banned from the game (see other pathetic column, a few weeks ago).
And then the whole week starts again.
But there are some positive sides to being a columnist. As evidenced by this week's column, I can pretty much say whatever I want. And I get my picture in the paper every week. A very non-flattering picture, yes, but it's fame nonetheless.
I actually had a guy come up to me at a party last weekend and ask if I was the Katie Hutchins. "Well yes I am!" I said, all excited that someone admires my work.
"I read your columns sometimes," he said before shrugging and walking away. I'm glad I've made such an impression. Honestly, I don't really write most of them; it's the Vivarin talking.
Speaking of, I've begun to hallucinate, and Bruegger's isn't opening for another hour. Time to get some unidentifiable, overpriced crap from the vending machine.
Have a good weekend. Please stop by Angell to visit.
Katie Hutchins can be reached in Hell at katieh@umich.edu