So I walk into the supermarket today to replenish my fridge. And it's a war zone. The supermarket, not the fridge ... although I guess you could argue both ways.
The supermarket was a wreck. For a second, I thought that maybe Obama had declared war on Canada or some such similar foe with the ability to execute a ground war on American soil. And that everyone overreacted -- yes, overreacted, because even if Canada did attempt to invade America, how far do you think they could get? I'm putting the over/under at 10.5 feet into Maine and suggest you take the under -- and had raided their local food purveyors in order to hoard supplies, lock and load their shotguns, and wait for the tides of war to wash over them.
But no, it was worse than war.
It was the undergrads, coming back to school after their winter break.
I don't know why I'm so hostile to undergraduates now. I actually feel like a bit of a hypocrite, since I readily acknowledge that I would gladly cut off two toes on one foot and three on the other to get to be a college student again.
In fact -- and this is true -- I have discussed with others whether the powers that be at Cornell would allow me to come back as a student. I would get another BA in some major completely unrelated to mine (this wouldn't be hard because there are tons of useful majors like mathematics or enology), and, in turn, the administration would let me be a freshman again and put me in a dorm on North Campus (Donlon looks like it would be fun) and let me do the whole college thing again.
Of course, there would be problems -- explaining to the other freshmen why I get a five-o'clock shadow at 10 a.m. would be the least of my concerns. In fact, for this to work I would have to pull a Don Draper and and create a whole new identity for myself. But I do this every other week at the bars, so I would just have to keep the long con going for four years. This seems doable to me.
In any case, I am not even half kidding about this yearning to be a student again, and yet when I see large groups of undergraduates, the rage that builds up deep in my heart of darkness is so strong that only cathartic visions of what I could do with a shovel, the element of surprise, and diplomatic immunity can calm me down.
I guess I can explain it this way. To (finally) get back to my initial point about the supermarket: The ravaged supermarket was nearly cleaned out. Chicken, milk, frozen pizzas and individual slices of cheese were all completely absent from the shelves. The only cartons of orange juice left were the ones with calcium, which always taste like they've been strained through a fisherman's net. The place was completely cleaned out of everything except for canned vegetables.
Heck, even the Magnums -- which hilariously always sit alone and unbought in the condom section -- were gone.
And if hell was standing in endless lines listening to South Shore girls yammer on forever about their winter vacations, God would be a concept too cruel to fathom.
I wish that you would forgive Old Man Charlie for shaking his fist at these miscreants who happily take over bars and order alternating shots of SoCo and Jager. Or at the ruffians who pack onto the T like a flock of lost donkeys, yelling at each other about which stop is theirs only to get off at the wrong one. Or, of course, at those goddamned kids with their goddamned skateboards.
So forgive Old Man Charlie because, deep in his heart, he wants nothing more than to go back and be like them.
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