For the perpetual student, college lasts a lifetime

RODNEY DANGERFIELD: BACK TO SCHOOL, AGAIN

I met Paul on the first day of a multicultural dance class at Cypress College. He stood out because he was the only person who came prepared to dance: sweat pants, loose shirt, and a headband that both kept sweat out of his eyes and, god forbid, his glasses from coming off. No one else dressed like Paul because everybody else knew that Multicultural Dance was a class about dance, not a dance class.

After an hour or so of preparation, attendance, and ground rules, the professor had us introduce ourselves. A lot of students were there for the same reason I was: Multicultural Dance killed three birds with one stone. It met our PE credit (required for an AA degree), our multicultural requisite, and one of our fine-arts credits.

Paul’s introduction sounded something like this: “Hi, I’m Paul. About a year ago I was working for Verizon at a store and I found a way for me to quit but still get paid. I’ve been taking dance classes at community colleges all around Orange County since then. At one point I planned on becoming a dance instructor, but now I’m thinking about teaching Pilates.” Despite his misgivings about the course material, Paul stuck with the class until the end. He did well. He even taught an entire segment of the class on swing dancing.

Anyone who has ever gone to community college has met somebody like Paul. Paul is the archetypal perpetual student, somebody who by either choice or circumstance is sentenced to a life of taking Philosophy 151, Human Sexuality, Ceramics, and Multicultural Dance. Etc. Perpetual students know the school like the backs of their hands. They have long-term friendships with the professors. They have probably taken the class you’re in three or four times before.

On their best behavior, perpetual students are a welcome distraction: Paul offered mystery, humor, and inspiration for us all. At their worst, however, they can hijack a class discussion with long-winded diatribes that have little or nothing to do with the subject (“Do we have to a write something like ‘me gusta leche‘ on our test? What if we don’t really like milk?”).

Perpetual students can be anyone, but almost without exception they fall into one of three categories:

• Students who hope to transfer out, but never will. For them, community college plays out like a real-life Kafka novel: they are tragic heroes overwhelmed by an institution so sprawlingly bureaucratic and bloated that there is no tangible possibility of ever moving on to a four-year university. They enroll in four classes, drop two, and fail one, leaving them one step forward and three steps back. Generally they’re in their late 20s and have been enrolled since their late teens. Despite all the odds, though, they still hope: “Good news! It looks like I might be transferring to CSULB next semester.” No, it doesn’t. It’s like watching a mosquito sucking on a mummy: Forget it, little friend.

• Hopeless old burnouts. Have you seen Strangers with Candy? Remember Amy Sedaris’s character, Jerri, the drug addict-turned-high-school student at the age of 46? If Jerri were, real she would be enrolled at LBCC and would take half of the first class session just to tell the class her life story. Actually, forget what I said: Jerri is enrolled at LBCC, along with dozens of middle-to-late-aged men and women just like her. You can meet her!
Hopeless old burnouts frequently take over class discussions from younger students, believing that their age makes them fountains of endless wisdom that are to be indulged and never extinguished. Meanwhile, the professor watches helplessly, eventually putting aside the prepared lecture for another day.

Sometimes hopeless old burnouts are solid gold. I once had a class with a dude fresh out of a 12-step program who was now spending his days training for an Iron Man competition and campaigning against dairy products (apparently, milk farmers bribed their way onto the food pyramid, the bastards).

But though their intentions are noble, the sad fact they almost never realize is that being old doesn’t make you smart—even when they inevitably flounder once a test is put in front of them. It’s like taking a class with fucking Gary Busey.

• Students who don’t want to transfer out. These people are taking the class for fun! Like the burnouts, they also tend to hold class discussions hostage. But they are decidedly less crazy, so there’s no hope for an entertaining story about dropping acid with Ray Manzarek or how Bush, Kerry, and John Mellencamp engineered 9/11 in order to boost oil and record sales. Since their motives are so different from transfer hopefuls, they go about the class in an entirely different way. Everything is an adventure; they expect the class to entice, enrich, and entertain. When the class gets boring, they’ll try to divert the topic to something more interesting. While the rest of us want a degree, they only want to know their tuition money was well spent.

All that said, perpetual students are not without value. They can represent our own shortcomings: sloth, failure, or at the least a misguided attempt at finding a hobby. Ultimately, they are best dealt with the same way we deal with TV commercials: sometimes they’re trying, sometimes they’re entertaining, but they are always there, and the best should be made of them. Make friends with them and you might learn something. Swing dance, maybe.

Tags: deep thoughts, jack handy, junior college, perpetual student, rodney dangerfield