Escape from City College: A professional student’s fight for freedom
By Nick Palm
The Guardsman
Oh City College, will you ever loosen the stranglehold you have on the neck of my education?
I appreciate every positive learning experience I’ve had with you and your passionate, devoted instructors, but sometimes I feel like a caterpillar forced into a coma – cocooned against my will. And only you can decide when I can move on from your purgatory of enlightenment.
Once in a while, I still cross paths with former high school classmates while traversing Cloud Circle. Six years ago, these encounters would lead to a warm embrace, three to five minutes of back and forth catching up time, and most likely a short debate on either puppies or nuclear disarmament, depending on the person.
Fast-forward half a decade. I cross paths with a former elementary school chum-turned-high school acquaintance. This time around, there is no acknowledgement of each other’s existence. There is no mention of that time in fourth grade when we crushed the fifth graders in a game of kickball.
We are both far too embarrassed because most people from our graduating class have already finished college and moved on with their wonderful lives, filled with champagne, easy women, and a Maserati to match your outfit every day of the week. That’s what you get when you graduate college, right?
I know I’m not alone. The average age of a City College student is 33. Many are trapped, like myself, on this depressing prison island. So I write this column for you, my eternal-undergrad friends.
If you can rattle off every food item – including the price – that the “roach coach” has to offer, this is for you. If you’ve taken more courses at City College than Baskin Robbins has flavors, this is for you. If you’ve ever considered naming your first born child Batmale or Rosenberg, this is not for you. You have much deeper issues that I can’t help with. Consider seeing a therapist.
As for the rest: Let me be your Snake Plissken. Follow me as I lead the way and attempt to…”Escape From City College!!!”
In this version of the epic Kurt Russel movie, there are no night raiders. Air Force One has not crashed into the Science Hall. I will not have to find and rescue the President within 24 hours. And no microscopic explosives were injected into my carotid arteries to ensure my allegiance.
[Editor’s note: all Guardsman staff members are injected with allegiance ensuring, microscopic explosives.]
It’s just me, my backpack, and copious amounts of caffeine constantly fueling my will to accomplish this mission.
After years of changing my major from English to English literature, to graphic design, to interior design, to macaroni sculpture, to elderly care and control and now finally to journalism; taking superfluous courses; nearly mastering the German language and wallowing in the fog, I am ready to transfer to a four-year school.
On my journey, I have narrowly escaped whimsical danger. I have battled my foes to their death. I have ascended the peaks of colossal mountains. Well, maybe not mountains. But dominant hills for sure.
Hear my battle cry from the tops of those small, insignificant hills. Follow my adventure this semester, as I fumble through my final required courses, apply to universities, and question everything along the way.
I know I’m not alone in this process. Please friends, share with me your own stories of trials and tribulations, hopes and fears, as you’ve attempted to conquer this beast they call City College. I want to know what you’ve been through.
Together, we will let our community know just how much we’ve attempted to accomplish all these years. And maybe, just maybe, we can emerge victorious as we escape this allegorical cave.
Then, we will ride majestic unicorns to candy mountain, and bathe our weary souls in lakes and rivers consisting entirely of fine Cabernets and bourbons, respectively. Then, we will slide down the freedom rainbow, and share our tales with the real world.
And attempt to stay out of mental institutions by doing so.
Until next time, my disciples. Stay strong. Stick it to the man with a smile on your face and a beer in your hand.