I want to shed the stigma of being a super-senior.

No longer are we the delinquents and the truants. Man, we’ve just got more on our minds than everybody else. Super-seniors are graduating with triple-majors, double-minors, and honors theses, just because we took a little extra time. Remember the weird older dude all the way in the back of the classroom with his headphones and that “We’re not gonna take it,” look on his face? Well, that’s not us. We’re a whole different animal. We’re sitting in the first row, listening intently with a recorder in one hand and a Starbucks Venti in the other. We’re not in the library only during finals week, and we sure as hell won’t take an A- for an answer. We know the game so well, and we can play it better. Don’t fool yourselves; super-seniors got it better than anybody else. We’re the Veterans on MTV’s Gauntlet, and we got this shit nailed.

What’s so great about being a super-senior? More college partying, more college sex, and more college tuition. Don’t front, you’re jealous. Already a second semester senior, I’m looking forward to the last hurrah, but it’s not coming so soon. I’ve got time on my hands, and two degrees waiting for me.

How did we get here, you ask? Higher education was considered the luxury of the elite, while the rest of the population worked menial jobs, giving little thought to their own appreciation for the labor they contributed—hence the multitudes of middle-aged alcoholics and prescription drug addicts. College is no longer another word for vocational school. There’s less emphasis on being a categorical statistic, prematurely ejaculated into the job market, and more, thank god, on being a well-rounded candidate for the future career of your choice. And did you ever think that four years of college might not be enough for that dream job? Maybe a couple of leadership-enhancing extra-curriculars, an internship, and some good connections could wedge the door open? The new work-force is expected to have skillz, son— not just a required list of Gen-eds.

Yeah, I won’t lie, all of us screwed around for the first one, two, or three years of college. But who can blame us? After all, the aroma of high school was still lingering in our nostrils. At the ripe age of 18, the illusion of freedom and independence hid the burden of responsibility from us—but time went on, even though the diplomas weren’t getting any closer. Though we seem like we could rip ass in academics these days, believe it or not, it wasn’t always like this.

Many of us greeted the college truck head-on, excited to leave the boredom of high school for the grandeur of university studies, and looking for something more to chew on. Confidently, we picked our major on the last day of high school (read: pharmacy), we packed up our little knap-sacks, and then six months later, we realized we didn’t even know what the hell we were getting ourselves into; and we ran… for our lives. I know I did. After trying to decipher CHE102 for half a semester and finally relegating it to the realm of gray matter, I resigned, in more ways than one. I resigned the course, and I resigned myself to a purposeful life of happiness. And I got the fuck out of a major that haunted my worst nightmares. That was a load off my shoulders. Granted, that set me back a few classes, but it was worth it to be where I am today. I meandered through the course catalog, carefully choosing classes that sounded interesting. Sure, Jewish Mysticism, German, and Intro to Feminist Theory may not have had anything to do with one another, but since then, I’ve decided that I don’t have to shave my legs anymore, my favorite composer is German music genius Robert Schumann, and I’m one step closer to understanding my Jewish heritage. What would I be without these seemingly pointless classes? A one-dimensional crock of shit. All I’m saying is, I’m here to learn, and besides, super-senior is a good look for me.

I now have two majors to complete, English and Anthropology, and I’m just about four classes away from my January graduation. Am I happy with my decisions? Hell yeah. Do I know what I’m going to do post-college? Nope. What I do know is that my last, laaast semester is going to be the culmination of a wild ride, and I’m not ready to let go just yet. You’ll be seeing me around; I iz in ur clasroom, razin mah hand, and takin ur aprtmnt spazes LOL.