10 miles! IBarefoot! In the snow! Uphill! Both ways!

During my 5-hour stint in Brew Ha Ha yesterday, I was acutely aware of the rest of the clientele.

I chose to sit at the far end of the bar, which put me in the perfect people-watching position. I was disturbed by a number of things, which I choose to share with you today. Bear with me, people. I'm not as vitriolic as some or as eloquent as others, but I'm as annoyed as both.

What is with the Stepford College Students today? Way back when in the previous century when I was in college, if we rolled out of bed, dragged on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, and threw our hair in a ponytail, we were ready for class. I saw college students in skirts and hose for chrissakes! With makeup! And perfect hair! They sat in lovely little ultrafeminine enclaves, with prim handbags perched next to them in their chairs, delicately sipping cappuccino and discussing art history. Yes, I eavesdropped. If you have that much time to put into your appearance, ladies, you'd better be making a 4.o GPA, not arguing that, duh, Manet and Monet are the same person, you just spelled it wrong, Ashley! That's all I have to say.

Also, since when has the notebook computer become de rigeur in the University set? Everybody and her sister had a cute little laptop sitting in front of her, industriously tapping away at the latest term paper or IM. And the cellphone not to far away, chirping every now and then to keep the peeps informed. Now, I didn't use the chisel and stone tablet, that, if you listen to him, my father used. I had notebooks and an array of colored pens - I color-coded my notes. I was a real geek (or swot, if you prefer). I had to earn my laptop the old-fashioned way: I married for it. I have the WCM's old one.

What's with the disposable income these kids have, too? A ginormous Mochaccino cost $4. How come these kids have $4 to throw away on coffee? Back in the day, I lived on dining hall fare and hobo soup out of my hot pot. If I had $4 to spare, I did laundry, and it sure as hell wasn't skirts and hose. We drank tap water, snacked on crackers and squirt cheese, and, on rare occasion, pooled our cash and splurged on a pint of Ben & Jerry's to share between us. For those years when I paid for my own education and commuted (5 of the 6 non-consecutive years of my education), I had to eliminate luxuries to pay for gasoline and books. Lattes were soooo out of reach.

Lastly, anyone over the age of 30 in the coffeehouse was subjected to an extended critical appraisal, culminating in raised-eyebrowed eye-rolling like, "whatever, dude." Like I was crashing a party at Lambda Chi Delta. Like I'd be caught dead at Lambda Chi, or any of its fellows. Dude, like, who's the grandma at the bar? Doesn't she, like, know there's, like, rules about who can come here? Dude, is she, like, working? Duuuuuuuude. That's, like, soo wrong.

Perhaps it was my sweatpants and sneakers. It could have been the grading and record-keeping done with a pen. It could be that I was just OLD. Whatever.

Move over, Dad, I'm joining the chorus. In my day, we had to walk 10 miles to school every day, barefoot, in the snow, uphill, both ways, carrying our stone tablets and chisels on our backs...