The halls of the University of Nevada, Reno, as well as the halls of other colleges across the nation, are again teeming with people who are, for the most part, younger than I am. And this is really pissing me off.
You see, I was in college once, for a period of four years ending in 1997. Seeing as it is now 2001, it means that four years have passed since I graduated college -- further meaning that a whole class of students (assuming they were on the four-year plan like I was) has started and completed college since I received my diploma and became part of the quote-unquote "real world."
This means I am no longer a kid. I am an adult. Yikes!
When I tell people who are older than me that I -- at the ripe old age of 26 -- feel like I'm getting old sometimes, I get looked at like I have just announced that I'm embarking on a new career of zucchini polishing. They guffaw, and say, "Jimmy, you're only 26."
"True," I say. "But 26 is closer to 30 than it is to 20, and that's making me think that I am getting older."
Then, sometimes, these older people -- possibly in need of some more fiber in their diets -- come unhinged. "Are you saying 30 is OLD???" they ask.
"No, I am just saying that the fact that I am closer to 30 than 20 is making me think that I am no longer as young as I used to be--"
"Why, I am SHOCKED that you would say that 30 is old when I am 47 and still enjoy a happy sex life and still visit nude beaches."
"I am sorry. I didn't mean to imply that 30 is old --- you visit nude beaches?"
"Yes, frequently, and I also enjoy rollerblading. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go and buy some Metamucil."
This is why I try to avoid age-related conversations with people who are older than me. But then there are the conversations I have with certain younger people. Let's say I left my watch at home, and asked some 18-year-old what time it was.
"Excuse me, but can you tell me the time?"
"It's 10 p.m., mister, which seems like it should be past your bedtime. And you're missing 'Diagnosis: Murder' on CBS."
This is why I can only have meaningful conversations with people close to my age. The older ones get offended if I imply I may be having a temporary flash of feeling old. And the younger ones are just young whippersnappers who don't respect their elders.
Anyway, I have noticed that more people are starting to call me things like "mister" and "sir." I can deal OK with sir, but I must admit I that become slightly insane when someone I calls me "Mr. Boegle." I once had an intern that I almost fired because he kept referring to me as Mr. Boegle. This would lead to highly moronic exchanges such as:
"Mr. Boegle, I have a question ..."
"Chris, don't call me Mr. Boegle. That's my father. Or my grandfather. But not me."
"Um, then what should I call you?"
"Jimmy, dammit."
"OK, Mr. Jimmy. Now, as for that question ..."
No matter how much my co-workers tell me that people are just trying to be polite and respectful when calling me Mr. Boegle or Mr. Jimmy or whatever, I just can't deal with it. It makes my head want to explode in a fury of wrinkles.
All this angst -- over being called mister, over feeling old when seeing another year of college commence, over the fact that I just realized that the phrase "zucchini polisher" sounds vaguely dirty -- makes me wonder what is going to happen when I reach the age of 30, or 40, or even 50. One of two things will occur: I will mature and learn to deal with it, or I'll come unglued and have a mid-life crisis that's the stuff legends are made of.
In other words, on the first day of college in 2025, call the authorities if I am lurking around UNR while polishing zucchinis. It means I am in obvious, obvious need of help.
Jimmy Boegle is a fifth-generation Nevadan who would like to remind readers that today's column was brought to you by the letter "ö" and the number 82563 and the vegetable "zucchini." Jimmy's column appears here Tuesdays, and he can be reached via e-mail at jiboegle@stanfordalumni.org.