Drama Used To Be My Favourite Class

Going to school has an uncanny ability to make you feel sorry for yourself. I’m well aware that in writing that last sentence I am confirming all that is wrong with 1st world nations, but I have a tendency to believe in its verity. Sometimes after two buses, a skytrain ride, and a 20 minute walk I begin to question what I’m doing at university, and if inevitably I’ll end up putting my degree towards a challenging and fulfilling job of serving caramel machiatos at Starbucks. Or there are the times when I’m in the midst of writing a ten page essay on "The Representation of Gender and Sexuality in Buffy the Vampire Slayer” when I ask myself “Hey, is this worth thousands of dollars?" I'm sure that in my future career I'll be thanking myself for pursuing a good education, for taking a challenging route, and for equipping myself with the knowledge that will enable me to succeed. As I serve vanilla non-fat lattes I’ll be able to tell the customers that establishments such as the ones they’re drinking coffee in are the heart of our capitalist economy, and a large contributer to the unequal division of international wealth. Oh, and "That’ll be $4.89."

I’ve been trying very hard lately NOT to waste money on the food at school because I’m a full time student I don't have a job. So to break this down for you: there’s a finite source of money and some goes out but nothing comes in. I try to pack a lunch, and save the extra $5 a day because I know I’d rather spend it on booze, I mean books. Universities however are pretty damn clever. They know that there are thrifty students out there, they even have entire clubs devoted to sustainability, so they find ways to counteract your lack of money spent on bubble tea. They put a market with every imaginable product right smack in the middle of campus so that you can't miss it, and you generally can'’t resist. I’d like to think that after writing several analytical papers, I could dissect the inner workings of this heroin-like market. The system works in a series of tiers. First tier is the shiny pretty jewelry tier. Girls fresh out of high school love the shiny pretty tier. Then comes the earth/naturel tier. They’ve got vintage jackets and clothing made out of soy, yeah I said soy, for all those people that have taken women’s studies and don't want to wear shiny pretty things that further subordinate women. Alright, there are more tiers but I got lazy and I think you understand my point; marketing geniuses were hard at work.

Today I sat down with my friend for lunch as she ate Subway and I ate my carefully packed sandwich from home. We talked about nothing in particular, blah blah blah- and then it happened. The straw that broke the fucking stressed out, anxiety ridden, has a final exam tomorrow camel’s back. A slip of the hand, a slight misjudgement, and I dropped my god damn sandwich. The nourishment that would sustain my “starving student” fisique, the substance to fill the empty void in my soul, my awesome sun-dried tomato chicken and organic baby lettuce sandwich. Time went into slow-motion as I watched my multi-grain bread flop onto the pigeon droppings that marked the tile floor; I stared in disbelief at the remnants scattered like garbage after a raccoon attack. Queue the thundering sound of my broken heart.

I think I lost a little piece of me when I saw that sandwich face down on the ground.

This is what university is; staring your lunch-deprived soul in the eyes, wiping the blood off your knees, and going to class a little bit hungry.