My Ass Hurts

Our author's brain farted and he thought of a grand metaphor. His trip was long, boring and without incident. So is yours.

I'm from back east. People always say "back east." Then you go "out west." Never, I'm going "back west" or "out east." Anyway, I drove back west to begin this school year. I drove all the way from Chantilly, Va., to the Grand Canyon and ended up in this berg we lovingly call Eugene. Using my 20-20 hindsight, the trip was a lot like my experience here at college or what I'm predicting it to be. That is to say, it started off with too much hoopla and and ended with not a small amount of cynicism.

A ton of planning went into this trip. Mommy and Daddy bought me a brand new car over the summer (Don't give me shit about being a little rich kid. Sure, aside from the fact that I am, I earned the damn thing.). It isn't that my old car wouldn't have made it, only that we would have stopped every two or three hours to make minor repairs like installing a new transmission.

My father and I bought a computer program that would map the route across the country. All I had to do was enter the places I wanted to stop along the way. If I was a true geek, I would say it was pretty cool. I even went to AAA and got a back-up map and route. I was so prepared that the Boy Scouts in my neighborhood tried to fire-bomb the house in a rage of pure envy.

I did all my laundry too. I separated it into two bags: one for the trip, and one for when I got here. I gave an extra car key to my driving companion in case I lost my keys. I brought a sleeping bag for camping. Camping is cheaper than hotels, and that is a good thing, eh? Just ignore the little things like bears, raccoons, roots and rocks under your sleeping bag, and it's just like a hotel.

Just like getting ready to leave high school for college. I took a bunch of SAT prep classes that started at 8 a.m. on Saturday mornings. I went to the college fairs and camped out in my guidance counselor's office. I applied for and won a ROTC scholarship. I scouted out schools, looked for financial aid and other incidental scholarships. I applied to 50 million schools. I freaked out and lost sleep over essays.

Then I came to this fine institution. So much for planning.

I never used the damn computer program. The AAA maps are still in the trunk of my car. My driving companion lost her keys. I needed more stuff out of my suitcase than my duffel bag and we only camped once in five days. Big back-swing, poor follow-through.

Once we got going, the trip seemed to go faster and easier than an inebriated freshman female. Aside from forgetting to tell my mother goodÐbye (something I don't recommend trying), the scenery was pleasant, the day was beautiful and we weren't sick of the same CDs being played over and over and over yet. West Virginia has really fun mountains to drive through. We stopped and took pictures. Life was grand.

It was sort of like Fall Term of freshman year. The newness of it all overwhelmed me. No Mommy or Daddy to set curfews or to regulate alcohol intake. Classes didn't start until 10 or 11 in the morning. Studying was optional, and best of all, freedom and independence were finally mine.

Then the grades came. Reality set in. I drove into states like Kentucky, then Missouri, then Oklahoma, then the low point, Texas. Texas is an ugly, boring and dry state. In two words, Texas sucks. I sneezed and we went through the only town in Texas: Amarillo. Isn't that some hardened ant-eater creature? No, wait. That's an armadillo. We were ready to kill each other just to break the monotony.

Thus began the long haul, which, speaking metaphorically of this journey through college, is where I find myself right now. I am in the Texas of my college career. What shall I look forward to now? Another three years of this rag, uh, publication? 15 bajillion more credits until graduation plus a race/gender indoctrination, uh, class?

Eventually, I'll get through this depression just like I got through Texas. Then I'll move on to the Grand Canyon. The Grand Canyon took my breath away. I've never been so impressed by a hole in the ground. It seemed worth my money to spend $7.95 on a Extra Value Meal at the Grand Hole McDonalds.

We camped in the national park around the hole, because the $59.99 per night for a twin bed and communal shower just didn't seem worth it at the hotel near the hole.

We woke in the morning to thunder and rain. In the desert. What the hell? We broke camp faster than a bowel movement in a dorm resident. So it rained when we saw the Grand Hole in the Earth. Neat-o.

The Grand Canyon was supposed to be the high point on my trip. What will my Grand Canyon of College be? Perhaps a mysterious $0.13 credit to my account at Oregon Hall, or maybe an anonymous flyer passed around campus depicting me as a man hung like a barnyard animal. Whatever, it had better come soon. I'm suffering.

Finally we saw the home strech ahead of us. We had originally planned to shoot over to Los Angeles and follow Highway 101 and 1 up the California coast from Arizona. It wasn't that we were sick of each other, but we felt that we must reach our new home. We were having a great time together, but we just wanted out. We wanted to be done. We hopped on I-5 and headed due north.

Since most of my co-workers will finally be graduating this year, I know the feeling of bitterness and cynicism that comes with the final term or two of college because it's usually vented on me. It isn't that they didn't love their time here. It isn't that they think most of the people here are blundering idiots. They just want to get on with their life.

As one person said, "The only thing I want to do more than leave is stay." But then, he was supposed to graduate this past summer. He'll be here until next summer. So much for planning.

Thomas Schoenborn, a freshman again, majoring in journalism, is a staff writer for the Oregon Commentator.