The College Debate

The last in the series of Liam and myself sniping at each other. For more silliness read Public Transport vs Magic Bike.

College. Yes.

Our society gives members of certain groups special indulgences. This concession usually begins with stating their unusual behaviour, followed by the words “It makes sense, they’re …”

They seem to be missing the majority of their teeth. It makes sense, they’re Collingwood supporters.

They seem to be acting with a sense of unspoken entitlement. It makes sense, they’re from Adelaide Uni.

They seem to be acting like a giant dickhead with a sense of unspoken entitlement and missing teeth. It makes sense, they’re a bouncer.

They seem to be attempting to fit five people, a keg and the trolley it came with into a three-door hatchback. It makes sense, they’re from college.

Despite the fact that this is our last edition, and any complaints will hopefully end up with the next lot of UniLifeMag editors (look forward to some great letters from people who were contacted under your names), I will resist the temptation to rant and rave, and instead focus on the last group mentioned that is allowed to act out of the constraints of society – the college student.

If you’re reading this you are most likely in one of four groups. A college student, in which case you can read this with a sense of smug satisfaction. My mum, in which case you should stop reading immediately. Someone who still lives with their parents, in which case you should read on to find out what you’re missing. Or the last group of people, which are those living in a share house, in which case you should stop considering the murder-suicide of your housemates and listen up.

Residential College’s (Lincoln, Aquinas, St Ann’s, St Marks, The Sem, Flinders, as well as many smaller ones dotted around Adelaide) offer the freedom of living away from home, with the comfort of knowing your next meal will not only be existent, but unlikely to be made by someone with hygiene similar to your own. They are amazing places of debauchery, and while most of the stories you hear from college students are likely to contain hazy truths, here are some facts.

The only food I own is beer. Meals are provided at college, and so all I have at the moment in the communal fridge is a six-pack and a two litre jug of beer (for the story behind the jug of beer see Issue 8’s vague review of The Expendables).

Fifty per cent of college students are your preferred sex. One hundred per cent of these are college students. Very few of these believe in long-distance relationships. Even fewer believe in the sanctity of them. It’s just maths.

No matter how hard you try to fail your course, every college has people who are looking out for your academic needs. These people are always there to help you out with your assignments and exam revision. This isn’t particularly funny, so I’ll end with a joke – I’m one of them.

With the exception of Flinders Uni Hall all of the colleges are located in North Adelaide. It’s close to everything, including most uni campuses. I’ve lived in Adelaide three years and I still don’t own a car, although this does sometimes result in the car-keg-trolley situation mentioned earlier.

I own furniture. Those living at home or in a share house may not have a hat-stand to call their own, but I have a couch, a huge chest of drawers and the classy, if slightly sticky, hat-stand, all of which was found by the side of the road. Not only that, but most of my college friends also own couches. We’ve reached the couch threshold! One of these was carried from a Unibar dumpster to North Adelaide in the early evening. Despite looking suspicious as all hell we weren’t stopped or questioned once. It makes sense, we’re college students.

College. No.

By Liam Mannix

It seems only fair that we see the negatives of college, and unlike other disreputable articles I actually went and talked to sources. They weren’t college people, but they were dressed like them.

Here are the things ‘they’ don’t want you to hear.

The food sucks. Everybody will tell you this. It all sounds great, but it isn’t. It’s designed more for the name than the end result. It gets repetitive. An unnamed source, who has never been to college, says “it is plastic food served from plastic containers, and it makes me want to kill myself”.

“It just never seemed like home cooked food”, says another slightly more reputable source. She may have got this impression because it is not home cooked.

College provides some great distractions.  For example, one always has the choice between doing an assignment and going on a nudie run. Or doing an assignment and getting extremely inebriated. Faced with all these choices, says our slightly more reputable source, “it is amazing they don’t all fail”.

There are stairs. Lots of them. More than in your house.

The combined smell of a hundred sweaty, hormonally charged teenagers is, shall we say, not pleasant. Indeed, it is the sort of smell you would not want to see in a dark alley. It is the sort of smell that makes you want to carry a knife.

The people are great, if you hate people. They are a collection of drunks, vagabonds, vandals, geeks, no-hopers, hippies, fascists and drunks. They are the worst collection of people you will ever meet.

UniLifeMag knows a person who lives at college (I don’t want to mention names, but see the previous page). He arrived there, from the wilds of regional South Australia, an innocent bub. A pure child. Butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth and such. He also arrived not-drunk.

He is now a shadow of his former self. UniLifeMag met him the other day, at The Tower near Magill campus. He stared at us, bug eyed, from the bottom of a beer glass. “UniLifeMag”, he croaked, “college is rad, man. Wanna bite of my schnitzel?”

One can see the damage college is doing to our youth.

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