The Culture of Hooking Up

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

My iced coffee is nearing the bottom of the cup, where there is now more melted ice than there is caffeine, making me already the slightest bit more irritable to be sitting back in this plastic chair. It's the same chairs we have in most of the classrooms, with metal legs and cracking backs. I'd rather be spinning in the thick black leather sitting behind Professor Berkley's desk, but even then, I know I'd still be just as stiff and uncomfortable.

     "Right, right, exactly!"

     I hear Professor Berkley say before she finally cracks open the door, leaning into the thick wood with her shoulder.

     "I guess we'll see, no?" She laughs along with the other professor she's talking to across the hall. "Yeah, I'll see you later." She keeps the pep in her voice for an extra second before finally pushing the rest of the way into the room with a plastic salad container propped in one hand and her purple thermos propped in the other. "Sorry about that." She sighs as she moves behind her desk. She maneuvers some folders and papers around, holding them down with a triangle crystal paper weight, before turning back to me with another sigh. "Okay, so your paper."

     I silently nod as my stomach continues to churn all the coffee I've had around and around.

     "I really like it. Overall, you're writing is excellent. I hope you're considering grad school." She cracks open the salad container before her eyes flicker back up. "Do you mind?"

     I shake my head but end up reaching up to brush my hair out of my face.

     "But you're still just missing a solid argument." She pours the little cup of dressing over the lettuce leaves and cherry tomatoes, making the smell of balsamic waft through the air. "Your observations are all there, and you connect them well, but you still need to identify what you are trying to argue." She reaches beside her chair, pulls out a fork, and starts stabbing at the lettuce. "And I know you're probably thinking that you wish you never picked nightclubs in the first place, or that this whole thing is starting to be really stupid." She passes a quick glance up.

     I keep my lips pushed together in a straight line in silent agreement with her statement because she got me there, but she still nods more to herself and stabs her fork down a few more times.

     "To put it simply"—she drops her fork as she looks back up—"who the hell cares?"

     I finally crack a smile, and she laughs a little.

     "You know what I mean? Why should anyone care about what a bunch of kids do in nightclubs?" She picks her fork back up and starts stabbing again. "Don't get me wrong. I understand what you're saying because I know where your coming from, but you just need to reinforce why it's important—prove it to me—even though we usually don't like to use the word prove because as you know nothing is ever truly true, but you get what I'm saying. Start with why it's important to you and then expand from there, connect the personal to larger social issues."

     "Why is she even going to school?" my dad's voice echoes in my head.

     "What do you mean?" my mom replied. They both thought I was sleeping. I wish I was. Especially because, at the time, I only had another week or so to sleep in my own bed before I went back to school for my second year.

     "What the hell is she going to do with a sociology degree?"

     "I don't know, but I do know that she's smarter than the two of us combined."

     "Yeah." He scoffs. "When she actually applies herself."

     "Oh, please, where do you think she gets that from?" She scoffs along with him. "She's not just going to stay here and mope her life away."