I LOVE my college. I envy you fuckers who are still up there chillaxing in Ladd Library, arranging your classes to be in the afternoon so you can make a day of Sunday River (even my unathletic ass did this), while enjoying the Androscoggin-like flow of Gritty’s Best Brown.
I would write 1000 Senior Theses to be back in Lewiston, Maine.
Coincidentally, Bates has been calling my ass up as of late looking for donations for the Annual Fund. I haven’t answered, but the 207 area code is a dead giveaway. This was my job in college – calling alums for money – and I would dig around the alumni names until I got to David Chokachi– Bates’s only famous alum besides Bryant Gumbel. They hit me up last year and caught me one night while I was drunk. I just wanted to chat with the student caller about the magic of Bates life and somehow got talked into donating a whooping $26 – because if I donated more than I did the previous year ($25), the college would match my donation. Aren’t I an asshole? An asshole with no money and a degree in Women’s Studies. But once I drank 20 beers in a day.
So please call me Bates College.
$27 is waiting in my bank account with your name on it.