Your college roommate has awoken from a deep, four-year slumber just in time to make it to a few of his final exams before successfully earning his “business degree.”
Meanwhile, for the last four years, you have been up all night reading and studying for your worthless English Literature bachelor’s.
As he rose to walk, he found himself stiff in the joints and his jogger pants much tighter around the waist. He hoped he didn't have a fit of rheumatism and was in want of his breakfast.
You look over to his closet and see the cap and gown. His computer is also up and you see he has been accepted for his MBA.
"Surely," he says, wiping the sleep from his eyes and staring at the shit-stained sheets, "I have not slept here all this time." He recalled the occurrences before his slumber: moving in, freshman orientation, and a game of frisbee.
This is the most he has said to you since you met him all those years ago, but before you can answer him, he rudely brushes you aside and with some difficulty, makes his way to the bathroom where he takes a twenty-minute piss.
There's no way this guy graduates, you say to yourself. Yet, there be magic in these mountains, and you look over to his closet and see the cap and gown. His computer is also up and you see he has been accepted for his MBA.
You stop typing the shitty, unpublished novel you’ve been working on and grimace at all the time and effort you put into your degree these last years.
Son of a fucking bitch.
He comes back into the room, scratching his balls so hard you fear that there might be an actual dismemberment. He's still wearing his Big Bang Theory "Bazinga!" t-shirt that might have been cool if he were still a freshman.
He looks around for his phone, but in the place of a new smartphone, he finds an old Iphone 11, the screen shattered, the buttons stuck, unable to connect to wifi.
You decide to show him the way to the Student Center because he can't remember his way. As he approaches the campus, he sees a number of people but none whom he knew. The girls' dress was different to what he was accustomed to—they were all wearing baggy sweatshirts and wide-leg jeans from the 90's. They all stare at him with equal marks of surprise.
He now enters the Student Center and a bunch of lacrosse guys compliment his now awesome beard in a language he couldn't comprehend. They say he "passed the vibe check" and "is flexing on everyone." He shrugs.
He goes to the cafeteria but there are strange, healthy foods he doesn't recognize. "Kom-buch-a," he tries to pronounce. He asks for a Monster, but is met only with odd and curious looks. He takes out his Juul only to find that the cartridge has lost its potency and flavor. There are disgusted looks all around and a Public Safety officer says those aren't allowed on campus.
"Aye, me," he said, stroking his beard. "Have things really changed this much?" he asked himself.
In a daze, he went back to the room. Having nothing to do until grad school next fall, and since his parents were well-off enough to allow him to be idle with impunity, he took a place outside of the dormitory on a bench and was studied quizzically as a relic of a prehistoric age; still with Twitter, but without a Tik Tok account. It was hard for him to get into the regular track of gossip since he didn't know what Reels are.
He puffs his Juul in silence deep in thought and looks through his backlog of Yahoo mail.
He can't believe he slept through the pandemic. He can't believe how much legal trouble Trump is in. But more importantly, he can't believe that Ellen, JK Rowling, and Will Smith got "cancelled."
He would tell his story to anyone who would listen, but was avoided by all for being “too cheugy.”