morrigirl | Talk of the Years

One of the many irritating aspects of my job is having to listen to bored students talk at me when they're frustrated or procrastinating. Being talked at is different then being spoken to. I like being spoken to. When a bored student comes over and engages me in conversation I delight in the exchange. There is no exchange when one is being talked at. In such cases I become nothing but a captive audience to the speaker's long, self-serving internal monologue. Essentially all they are doing is talking to themselves. They are not looking to exchange ideas or experiences, they aren't even looking to rant, they're just looking to waste time by listening to themselves talk. Not only is it exhausting but it keeps me from getting what little work I have done. Last night I had to sit through two such monologues, and by the time my shift was over I wanted to hurl things.

The first offender was Sabri, a well intentioned, if long winded, older student who will alternately converse with or talk at me depending on his mood. Last night he came in bitching about the trouble he's having getting into a Masters program. He wailed about how his adviser fucked him over, and how his employer, the NY Board of Ed. fucked him over, how it's their fault no one will accept him because he doesn't have the right kind of background to get into the type of Masters program he wants. I tried to explain it was his responsibility to know what sort of credits he needed to get into the a particular program, and it was his responsibility to remedy the situation if a particular program required he show proficiency in a specific area before they'd grant him addmission. He didn't want to hear that, so he changed the subject to how stupid the Board of Ed. is for only allowing him tuition remission at certain universities. He bitched about how Board of Ed. wouldn't pay for him to take classes at NYIT (a private institution,) but would pay for him to take classes at any of the city (I. E. state run) universities. I tried to tell him how and why such a policy made sense, but he didn't seem to grasp the idea that not all learning institutions are tied to the Board of Ed. (which I found very amusing since, ya know, he works there.) The more Sabri talked the more apparent it became that he was simply looking for ways to shirk responsibility for the continuation of his own education. He didn't want anyone telling him what was wrong with his approach or how he could solve his problems, he wanted someone to agree that he was being victimized by outside forces and thus validate his sense of helplessness. Well, nowhere in my job description does it say I need to affirm victim mentality, so I wasn't about to tell him what he wanted to hear, not this time, particularly since his problems were ones that could be easily solved if only he took it upon himself to get his shit done. It isn't a conincidence that my college career was a disaster up to the point where I figured out the only person who was gonna help me was me. From Junior year on I operated under the assumption that no one was under any obligation to help me succeed, therefore if I wanted something I had to be the one responsible for making it happen. I was responsible making the Dean's List. I was responsible for getting myself cast in all the shows I auditioned for ("If you don't show up, they can't cast you.") I was responsible for submitting my work to Catch. Being a life long depressive I'm well aware of what victim mentality sounds like, and as anyone who reads this journal regularly can tell you, I still fall into it. We all fall into it. Being able to see victim mentality for what it is, and then fall OUT of it is what separates the actors from the audience on the world stage. But, long before I started in on this preachy digression, once Sabri figured out I wasn't goning to agree with his assesment of the situation, he wandered off, leaving me in peace though not for long.

Towards the end of the evening this 60-something alumni (why is it always older people who talk at you?) came in and started marveling about how much the school had changed. He used that to segue into a 45 minute speech about how to make it in show business! It would have been interesting...if I didn't come from a family that has spent the last 50 years excelling in just about every show business related field. Dude obviously thought he was imparting some sort of valuable knowledge upon me, but it was nothing I hadn't heard before, nothing new or original, just some guy spewing mental mish mash to a completely uninterested party. I swear I didn't get to say anything other than "uh-huh" for the entire 45 minutes he spent talking at me. Unlike Sabri, I couldn't figure out this guy's motive for talking at me. I couldn't figure out what he was trying to get out of it. He wasn't a student so it's not like he was talking outloud to clarify his thoughts so he could go back to writing his paper, he wasn't looking for validation. Maybe he just wanted some attention. All I know is I was mentally drained by the time he left. I tried dropping non verbal hints that he should move on, but generally people who are inconsiderate enough to talk at you won't pick up on subtle cues that their speeches are unwelcome. So for all those who are still blissfully unaware I give you:

Signs that the Person you are Talking at Would Like you to Disappear:

1) They give nothing but clipped or monosyllabic responses to your verbose ramblings like "uh-huh" (usually with accompanying head nod,) "yes," "I see," and "mmm-hmmm."

2) Their eyes wander when there is no outside stimuli to grab their attention.

3) Their eyes glaze over.

4) They start drooling.

5) They try to worm their way out of the "conversation" by inventing tasks that you supposedly interrupted them while doing. For example, "I'm in the middle of updating the library database, I really need to get back to that," or "I was just on my way to wax my cat" (interpret that however you will.)

6) They resume said task while you are talking without prefacing the action with "I'm gonna continue doing thhis but keep talking, I'm still listening."

7) They start randomly waving and saying hello to every person that passes by.

8) They start singing to themselves.

9) They whip out a couple of knitting needles and a How-to book.

If anyone can come up with a suitible 10) I'd love to hear it.

60-something alumni also said something last night I found myself mindly shocked to be upset by. At one point he asked, "How old are you? 17? 18?"

"25," I replied.

"No you're not," he said, a little taken aback. "You look 18. What are you studying?"

"I'm not studying anything, I've graduated."

"Noo," again with the shock.

Everyone in my family has told me I come from "good genes," ones that will make me look older when I'm young, and younger when I'm old. My mother, who turns 60 tomorrow, still doesn't look a day over 50. When I was 13 people would regularly mistake me for 18, and when I was 15 strangers would assume I was 20. When I went off to college at 19 my age finally caught up with my looks. From 19-22 it was said that I looked my age, and while at first I was a bit glum, afterall, up to that point I'd always looked older, it didn't take long to get used to it. But ever since I graduated, people have started telling me I look younger than I am. Now most strangers assume I'm between 18-20. I know as a woman I'm supposed to be flattered but...I'm not. In fact, I'm a little ticked off. 25 may not be all that old but I've earned every one of those years. Each has had it's own trials and tribulations and I've made it through all of them intact. I want people to see that. I want them to see a 25 year old. The gap between 18 and 25 is a lot wider than most people seem to realize (a fact that is higlighted in

skoriaan 's latest entry.) I was a fucking idiot when I was 18. Of course I didn't realize it at the time, but that doesn't change the fact. I'm so much smarter then that now. I have no doubt when I'm 30 I'll look back at 25 and say the same thing, but that's life. The longer we live the smarter we get (with any luck.) I'm proud of every year I've lived, and I want people to know that. Just as a short 12 year old feels insulted by being asked if they're 8, I feel insulted at being asked if I'm 18. *stamps feet and whines* "Nooooo!!! I'm 25!!!

Last but not least, here's what I have to say about yeast infections,

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