Monday, August 19, 2019

College Style :: Education Writing Language Essays

College Style I was sitting at the bar on my favorite bar stool drinking a rather poor bottle of domestic beer. The sun was glaring off the snow on the outside world. It was dark inside, how I liked it. It was a time to collect my thoughts, a time to think the world out in a rational matter, it was time to think of an expository writing assignment. As I sat there peering through the beer glass watching the reflections off the watered down beer that appeared now more like a glass of tainted water, I noticed a few guys come in that were in my Marxist philosophy class. I waived my hand in that "nice to see ya" kind of gesture and they sat down beside me. I was a bit nervous but the courage I had from the first four beers was making me more at ease. These were the smart kids. There were four in all, two girls, two guys. They surrounded me around the bar. I began to sweat and drips of dew dropped down on to the hard plastic bar that had held up my head so many times before. I'd read their papers before . I realized they were the smart kids when reading their papers, I didn't understand what they were saying. Sure, some of the ideas were familiar but the general concepts of their papers were so ahead of my knowledge for the written word that the meaning was gone. was Now I was sitting among them, in a circle, a circle of knowledge. I was embarrassed that I was sitting amongst the greatest minds of the upper-Midwest drinking from a tainted glass with nothing more then a domestic beer. I quickly finished the drink and motioned to the bartender. "Sir," I cried, as only a intellectual could, "bring me a chardonay, spare no expense with the pretzels, and give yourself ten percent." I was pleased at my request. Certainly I would fit in now. In class the smart kids always spoke in such a manner unlike any dialect that I had known before. When the addressed the professor they used words that I didn't know existed, I flew for my dictionary but by then it was always too late. I would try to fit in this time. I swung my chair towards the semi-circle that had surrounded me. I crossed my legs as only poets and small boys can do and grinned at them.

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