A month ago at a local chocolatería, I overheard a conversation much like this:
Bimbo coed: “I’m so happy. I placed out of thirty hours. I think I can take all my core courses this year and be out in two . . . if I go to summer school.”
Saleslady: “That is so cool. You’ll have a college degree before you know it.”
Another future citizen, I thought, that I won’t be able to talk to. If I mention going to war is like opening Pandora’s Box, I’ll draw a blank. If I tell her that glazed doughnuts are my Achille’s heel, she’ll ask me to speak English.
I left the store disappointed in myself for not saying anything and disappointed in a university system turned industry that cheats students out of an education, mass producing graduates with a cookie cutter, whether they know anything or not.
We are at war in several countries, but worried about what bathroom to use: Men? Women? Whatever? We have turned the medical profession into a business these last twenty (?) years and now calling the doctor’s office, not to mention going, is sometimes more painful than the problem we called about.
Nitchie complained about similar things in 1820. So did Bertrand Russell in the fifties. Come to think of it, Jesús had a lot to say about many things back at ground zero, but nobody paid much attention, or if they did, it was to make gains from it. Before him, Socrates complained about similar things: he blamed the younger generation and their lack of respect, for the world going to hell.
All of which makes me groan. I listen to the news: one china policy, the two state solution, or the alphabet people (lgtb-xyz) and the new-normal of becoming one. I listen to people talking at Candy Haven—more groans. I read the Denton paper—double groan. Was there ever such a poor excuse for a newspaper? Nothing can be that pathetic, unless they try hard. Makes me hunger for the days of simple, carefree mediocracy.
Consequently, I’ve decided things are not going to change, certainly not anytime soon, and not for the better. Becoming an expert in disappointment was the only reasonable solution, so that now it doesn’t bother me anymore, but rather disappointment has become a constant companion, like an old shoe, and one I’ve become used to.