Tosser Academics and Photographic Whores

I walk into the Great Hall with grace and flare as I am consumed by historical architecture and religious hymens. As I look around I am stared at by painting after painting of cocky narcissistic academics in their old style robes and wigs. They sit in large throne like chairs with greying hair and a king like aura of knowledge and power.

As I find my way to my seat, a decaying hunger for knowledge drains down me, as I feel powerless against the ever knowledgeable philosophists of all things bullshit. As I take my seat and await the ceremony of which I one day will, God forbid, have to partake in, a man in a suit stands up to the podium and recites a very stagnate, poignantly rehearsed routine about the protocalls for the proceddings. With a drizzly, blunt tone, similar to that of Dave Hughes,the man manages to comically engage the audience to what in hindsight becomes the most entertaining part of the ceremony.

“Make sure you’re in the seat you have been allocated, otherwise you’ll end up getting someone else’s degree…shake the hand of the Chancellor and take your mortarboard (tosser graduate hat) off before walking away. For the ladies you may do this also, or for a real retro look you can curtsy. If you haven’t listened to a word I said, just remember the golden rule is do what the person in front of you does.”

The hope this man gives for the rest of the ceremony soon dies out, as the music restarts and the academic overlords head their way up the isle to their seats up the front. Black gowns with red drapes, they all just screamed to the room academic bullshit. I soon worked out that the more fancy and posh the mortarboard and robes, the more bullshit the person. There was also a definitive feeling that the older the person, the more wisdom and bullshit they evoked, even if half of them seemed to doze off during the cermemony.

Then the graduates began receiving their degree, which was nothing like a roll or parchment, but a modern day red folder with an A4 piece of paper, most likely reflex, with a little stamp which indicates its authenticity. The speeches, robes, architecture, and general traditions all seemed to remain, yet the paper just had to be all modern and ruin it.

Then the photographer…

It must have been a dare. No one is that socially unconscious. No one is up themselves like that. No one is that stupid. But apparently this young girl was. She was not a professional phrotographer. She did have a semi-serious camera though, with a flash of agony to boot. She must have been egged on by her photographic graduate star, as she dauntingly continued to take up to 500 photos in the same exact position sitting in the isle. It wasn’t even a good shot. And as the flashes banged and punched the several graduates and family around the man, I could see eyes blink and fists clench, wondering in God’s name why this woman did not feel she had enough photos already.

It got to a stage where her photo taking became comedic for me. I was wondering whether she must have been on something. Something to make her do such strange and out of place things. It was as if Prince William had just grown horns and the world had to see these horns in a million different angles. Either way, I started to enjoy it as an alternative to the boring proceedings and got pleasure out of watching both her stupidity and the frustrations of the people surrounding.

In the end Dad had a word to her. A very stearn word which only my father would have the balls to do. He still goes on about it and I still continue to laugh. I guess dad just doesn’t get the joke, but it is surely a new routine he will have for parties as he awaits for the all important segway to bring up the story.

In the end though, my brother graduated, which was why we were all there in the first place, so I guess you have to say it was a success. The photographic whore went on to take countless more photos with his newly aquirred degree, and the tosser academics made their way out of the Hall as we all stood there and saluted their bullshit. And as I stood with a fake smile on my face, I couldn’t help but think:

One day I’ll be one of those tossers.

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Posted on May 21, 2011, in Personal and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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