Tonight, I stayed late at work to continue writing my mortal coil (also known as the book I'm trying to finish). I shut down at around 10:45 and went outside to wait for the 11:00PM shuttle from campus to the metro stop. No one was around, so I shivered - winter having finally arrived in DC -- blankly for a little while.
As the bus approached, three girls came out of the dorm near the stop, dressed in high heels and miniskirts. The parent in me thought, They should really wear more clothing. It's cold. The bus stopped and I got on.
At which point I remembered that it was Friday night. On a college campus. In DC.
The entire bus was filled with very loud, very young women. The scent of perfume mised with seemingly half-digested alcohol in the warm, cramped air of the bus. Girls yabbered on so excitedly with such shrill voices, I actually couldn't catch a single conversation. One of six people with a Y-choromosome on the bus (and one of two over the age of 25, the other being the bus driver), I sat in the front of the bus. I frantically looked around, praying that none of my students -- past or present -- were on board.
For some, the prospect of being in close quarters with all these young women would be exhilerating. Quite frankly, I believe there are just certain things a professor really shouldn't even know about, much less see. I found the experience mildly terrifying.
The bus opened the doors and I zipped out to run down the escalator stairs before the gaggle approached me, thinking as I went downward My God, I am so glad I'm not 20 anymore, because goodness knows I wouldn't be able to take this.
With that, I happily declare myself old.