Nah’msayin?

Accosted On Guy

OpinionsRiley Sparks — Published November 1, 2011

So I was walking from the Hall to the EV building the other day, going to class, just thinking about how broke and awesome I am, and in that not-even two blocks, I had to awkwardly fend off the weird, too-friendly advances of, I swear, like, 20 people.

Among them there were three granola-eaters hitting me up for cash to help endangered voles migrate safely across the A-20 or whatever; two shiny-suited, fresh-faced and just-out-of-business-school employees of that big green bank trying to give me another goddamn credit card; one earnest, empty-eyed dude in a robe trying to press into my hands a glass of Kool-Aid and a book about Pilates and a whole table of those fucking Obama-Hitler-United-Nations-Black-Helicopter people.

This will not stand, man—I’m just trying to go to class.

It occurred to me on that brief walk that this situation has really gotten out of hand. This school I give all my money to is like some weird preview of a not-so-distant, post-Great-Recession, Mad Max: Beyond Thunderdome future where packs of wild dogs and loosely-confederated, leather-clad bands of marauding ruffians set upon unsuspecting travelers and beat ‘em till the coins come out.

At least in that future I get to be something cool—like Mel Gibson before he turned out to be an anti-Semite. But right now, I’m still just a broke-ass student.

So I guess what I’m saying is, I don’t know whose jurisdiction this is, but the CSU, the admin, the city, the good Lord—I don’t really care—someone’s gotta set things right.
If this is the way it’s going to be, I swear, I’ll get all Judge Dredd and take the law into my own hands. I just want to walk to class in peace, for goodness’ sake.