sac state pen.

As the fall semester draws to a close, the same question seems to be perched on everyone’s lips.

“How much longer do you have?”

It’s enough to make you feel like a prisoner comparing sentences with your fellow inmates.

“I’ve still got 18 months.”

“What are you in for?”

“Journalism.”

I find myself wishing it was something more intimidating, but then I would have no friends.

"What's your major?"

"Murder."

On the other hand, fresh meat freshmen all seem really excited to be in on their first stint.  And well they should be.  One’s first time on the inside represents a whole host of learning opportunities.  Fellow inmates… er, students, come from different backgrounds, have all kinds of neat talents, and are here for many different reasons.  

Cellmates, I mean dorm mates, are a gamble, but a good one can be an especially unique resource for learning loads of useful skills.  Illegal downloading for instance, or pyrotechnics.  Maybe even how to talk to girls, and if that fails, how to mix a roofie-colada.

But none of us are new for long.  After a few years, one’s outlook can change drastically.

You can always pick out the soon-to-graduate crowd.  They’re the ones who (in trying to please the parole board) are busier than a one legged man in an ass kicking contest.  However, those same people will love to tell you, with an optimistic smile, about their plans for the outside.

“As soon as I’m done here, my girlfriend and I are getting married.”

Or:

“I’m planning to go south to find work.”

And sometimes, from the truly brave:

“My parents said I could move back in with them.”

“Good plan,” I like to reply.  “Just say you went to high school in Oregon, otherwise keep your mouth shut.  And don’t let them get a whiff of the time you spent in this joint or you’re done for.”

There is another category of people within our program that have unfortunately become totally institutionalized.  These folks have spent time a lot of time on both sides of the fence, and adopt a less hopeful perspective toward a future on the outside.  They know that, realistically, there isn’t much in the way of jobs even after serving all their time.

“Why get out now and hunt my ass off only to work at a coffee shop for minimum wage?  If I recommit, I can continue living in this system forever while I form a gangster posse and build up mad street cred.”

Or in this case, do some networking and earn a Ph.D. and a teaching credential.

While on one hand I'm definitely grouping all college students into one of three groups (the energetic new arrivals; the hard working but tired upperclassmen; and the completely poisoned) I realize there is bound to be some overlap.  Of course there are some first-years who realize this just isn’t for them, and have already decided to throw in the towel.  Or maybe someone in the doctoral program for French literature is just genuinely passionate about Balzac.

Regardless, all those conveyed through the system will exit the other end as completely improved humans, indoctrinated with correct thinking, capable of being productive citizens and no longer prone to any of those old bad habits this place was meant to break them of.

 

And here I thought the analogy was going to break down at some point.