Those are not infants you hear wailing on many a college campus. Believe it or not, those are the pathetic cries of a new species of American college student, known primarily in scientific circles as genus whinus progressivus wimpus.
A word, action, or sign that is not entirely politically correct will offend a whinus progressivus wimpus and hurt his feelings and those of his ilk so terribly that they cannot exist without a designated safe space to which to run and curl up in fetal position.
The whinus progressivus wimpus would never have survived college when I was an undergrad. My classmates and I were considered adults and behaved and dressed as such. No wardrobe selections from Whores R Us, if you please. No slacks or jeans allowed for female students either. In winter, we wore them under our skirts to keep from freezing and removed them in the women’s locker room before attending classes.
Students were not coddled back then.
At my college, we carried 17 1/2 credits per semester and were required to graduate in four years. We selected real major courses of study that would someday lead to an actual paying job or career. Students had to attend classes or else—three unexcused cuts equaled a failing grade and no class credits. One more thing: instructors took credit off for spelling and grammatical errors—and not just in English class. Students were expected to know how to spell correctly and to write in grammatical English. After all, we were in college, not preschool.
We didn’t have extravagant food service buffets at meal times. Our plain vanilla cafeteria specialized in mystery meat drowning in the gravy or sauce of the day. The only time some of my classmates chose to eat it was when a tough exam was imminent and they hoped to become too ill to take it. Others ate the mystery meat because they had a death wish.
My favorite college cafeteria horror story was one I heard from a friend who attended a college in Connecticut. French toast was on the menu for breakfast one morning. My friend took one bite and realized that rather than waste food the economical cooks used the previous day’s peanut butter and jelly sandwiches from lunch to make that morning’s French toast. Eww.
Whinus progressivus wimpus would be astonished to learn that inappropriate, obnoxious, uncivil behavior and the use of profane language was neither encouraged nor condoned by any faculty members. Such unacceptable behavior led to suspension or expulsion. Flip off the Dean of Students and you were history. No one condemned the Dean for disciplining you for your disrespectful behavior. Not one of your classmates would even consider staging a protest to save your sorry, ill-mannered butt. Everyone agreed you got exactly what you deserved.
Students were not in charge back then.
Whinus progressivus wimpus would no doubt be dumbstruck to learn that in the past college administrators did not back down in the face of ridiculous and illogical student demands, profane insults, and outrageous threats—because there were none. The administration was in charge. The students knew it and knew better than to jeopardize their own college careers.
We must not overlook the parents who brought whinus progressivus wimpus into this world. They are undoubtedly the most permissive generation of parents the world has ever known. My parents were just that—my parents, not my buddies. Had I behaved in the same manner as the whinus progressivus wimpus—and on national television, no less—my parents would have cancelled my tuition check, told me to start job and apartment hunting, and helped me pack my bags.
To the permissive parents of whinus progressivus wimpus, for the sake of your clueless offspring and for the future of our nation, I beg you to “Go thou and do likewise.”
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