Ready for the Real World

It's a good thing I'm a senior. I went home last weekend, and on my return, for the first time ever, I wasn't even the least bit tickled to tell the cab driver my destination. Not a bit of a smile leapt to my face as the Weeks Footbridge came into view. Nothing but malaise hit me when, 45 minutes and $30 later, the cab dropped me off in front of Leverett House.

The fact is, after a while, all those red bricks and Veritas shields begin to take their toll. One day, probably one day this spring, I'll start getting gushy and sentimental. But right now, after three years and one month of Harvard classes, Harvard Dining Services, Harvard Yard and The Harvard Crimson, I'm finally getting jaded and feeling ready for the real world; I'm finally starting to get sick of this place.

What am I getting sick of?

I'm getting sick of reading for section, and even sicker of not reading for section.

I'm getting sick of good TFs and sicker of bad ones.

I'm getting sick of buying sourcebooks and coursepacks.

I'm getting sick of the Widener steps and the revolving doors of the Science Center. I'm getting sick of the Loker Coffeehouse and the Greenhouse (both Greenhouses).

I'm getting sick of Telnetting into Hollis.

I'm getting sick of OCS, PBH, VES, RSI and the Bureau of Study Counsel.

I'm getting sick of bell-ringing beef, and of people talking about bell-ringing beef in The Crimson.

Without a doubt, I am already sick of the Undergraduate Council.

I'm sick of professors, deans, department chairs and Harvard chairs.

I'm sick of 90-minute sections, Core lotteries and grad students with strange British accents. (In fact, I'm sick of grad students altogether.)

I'm sick of response papers and reaction papers.

I'm sick of Aristotle, Locke, Kant, Mill, Nietzsche, Foucault and, especially, Habermas.

I'm sick of add-drop forms, exam groups and IOP study groups.

I'm sick of my ID picture.

I'm sick of my thesis (which I haven't started).

I'm sick of applying to law school (which I haven't done yet).

I'm sick--really sick--of the LSAT.

I'm sick of not having a Coop number.

I'm sick of having my bag checked every time I leave Lamont.

I'm sick of trying to cross Mass. Ave. (and of people calling it Mass. Ave.)

I'm sick of Ashmont and Alewife, and of those two-car Green Line trains.

I'm sick of fake Boston accents.

I'm sick of cold nights followed by hot days followed by cold days.

I'm sick of Ma Soba, Pho Pasteur and the Gato Rojo. I'm sick of the pit, the Kong, The Wrap and the Chinese Food Truck (which I still haven't found).

I'm sick of Grafton, the Bow and the Grille.

I'm sick of Harvard parties.

I'm sick of (and from) Tommy's at 2 a.m. (Of course, I'm sick of the sesame seed crust, too.)

I'm sick of Sunday brunch and comment cards. I'm sick of Crimson Cash and Board Plus, and explaining the difference between the two.

I'm already sick of Fly-By Lunches.

I'm sick of the Lampoon, the Pudding and Henrietta's Table.

I'm sick of Harvard Square--the parades, street fairs, Andean musicians, jugglers and both CVSes. I'm sick of the Harvard Square Defense Fund.

I'm sick of Jam'n 94.5, WBCN and Kiss 108, and nauseated by David Allan Boucher.

I'm sick of the Independent, the Salient, Perspective, Editorial Humor and the Weekly Week. Yeah, I'm sick of Spare Change too.

I'm sick of Midnight Madness, the Beanpot and the Head of the Charles.

I'm sick of Pedro Martinez, Mo Vaughn and Nomar Garciaparra.

I'm sick of the bells (all of them) and a cappella groups (all of them).

I'm sick of undisclosed recipients.

I'm sick of the Quad, 2 Divinity Av. and walking to Vanserg. (I was always sick of Vanserg.)

I'm sick of transcripts, tenure and Tercentenary Theater.

I'm sick of the Ad Board, final clubs and final exams, the primal scream, "10,000 Men of Harvard" and President Rudenstine.

And, above all, I'm sick of people complaining about every aspect of Harvard. Love it and appreciate it--before you get sick of it.

Geoffrey C. Upton '99 is a social studies concentrator in Leverett House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.