Smoke your way to a B.A.!

Smoke your way to a B.A.!

The legalization of Marijuana will be hailed with great fanfare in Manhattan someday soon (we hope), but until then New York stoners will have to blaze in secret… preferably 15 minutes before our First Year English classes! There is no better mental state to talk about Paradise Lost in than if you get a little lost yourself. One Bwogger has a few divine revelations at 10:10 am. 

Feeling responsible (I was doing an assignment for a reputable news source [Bwog??]), I glided into class at 10 am sharp. I spent a few good minutes staring at the “Notes” app on my iPhone where I was recording notes for this… special assignment, trying to decide if “glided” was actually the past tense form of “glide.” I rolled “glid” and “gled” around in my mind until I realized that, no, “glided” was definitely the right word. And I was definitely doing that.

I was one of the first four people in the classroom, as usual (I’m not a slacker, I promise) so my entry was less dramatic than I’d envisioned it being, which was probably a good thing. Another note from the Notes app: “I take a bite of my bagel and I float.” Nice work, Columbia dining!

My essay (due that day) was crumpled in a heap at the bottom of my backpack. I pulled it out shamefully and brushed off some crumbs. I sucked up my coffee in three seconds flat and wished I hadn’t. Before the teacher even came into the room, I was already checked out.

I decided to play a game: every time the teacher called on me, I’d incorporate a Beatles lyric into my answer. I think I compared Homer with John Lennon. I’m sure other atrocities were committed, but by the time I realized I wasn’t funny, I was already thinking about other things. Such as: food.

I had just eaten a bagel, true, but I realized that a bagel was not enough to fill the insatiable void that seemed to be inhabiting my stomach. I pondered leaving class and coming back 15 minutes later sweaty, panting, and smelling of Halal. But also, I never was going to leave the sunny spot in the corner of the classroom.

By the time I had figured out that my teacher’s name anagrammed into a phrase that would be redacted if we redacted phrases on Bwog, class was almost over. Before I left, the teacher complimented me on my shirt. I felt validated. Then, I felt hungry again. I ran to the Halal cart.

NOTE: Bwog does not encourage illegal activity of any kind.

Academic High via Shutterstock