Day one of university.
First impression: the lecturer is like the fat, boisterous ring-leader of a circus; the students, his animals barking opinions, keen for attention.
Second impression: I’m allowing myself to be scammed.
Third impression: Again.
…again, although in a whole new way…
The fervour in the room would have been closer to a religious or cult-like zeal than a circus, if the lecturer hadn’t urged us so strongly to disagree with everything, even to ‘disagree with me!’ as he’d spectacularly begged, working the crowd. It was a self-gratifying, rethink your thinking, outside-is-inside, anti-establishmentarianism, learn-to-un-learn-your-learning, die prejudice!, be a real arts student! jerk off. The room absolutely reeked of the self-congratulation and smarm that these idiots all sweated so as to baste themselves with it.
Sure, think outside the box, that’s a good thing. But it’s just embarrassing when the lecturer actually begins by bellowing in his walrus-like way, ‘Leeet’s get ready to RUUUUMMMMBLLLLE!’
Maybe I’ve just become accustomed to the outside world, to living beyond the university bubble. But I don’t think I ever bought into that kind of gratuitous zest and self-sucking hoopla. I don’t think it was ever on sale to be bought. So maybe I’ve aged, become a cynic, a dead-beat, a total square. Or maybe things have just slipped.
But give me the clever old guy who wore ugly sweaters and smiled benignly, who spoke in a manner that made you really think, This guy knows what’s going on. Not made you think, This guy’s been without a lay for so long, exhibiting himself like a blubbery animal and raping my ears while insulting my intellect is as good as he can hope for.
And give me tutors who (look, I get that this is a contemporary cinema class, alright?) don’t ask to be referred to as ‘Tango’ and ‘Cash’. Get a fucking grip.
Doomsday has earned its name.
