Though I may officially be old, my sense of humour keeps me young.
That’s right. I turned the infamous, harrowing, dreaded, wrinkle-inducing, “supposed to be fun” 21. Please contain your frightened gasps, refrain from closing your tab and don’t run away screaming like I’m going to deplete your youth if you get too close — I haven’t figured out how to do that yet.
It’s time I face the truth. My freshman year is a relic of a distant past. My perpetually greige mud-and-beer-stained Air Forces have been retired, swapped for some untainted new Blundstones that scream mature. That’s right, I use sidewalks instead of walking through the grass in front of IKB. To the press and sway, the perpetual stench of frat houses, the succeeding sound of cop sirens and the triumph of finishing an Ice before the drinking song turns to “Why Are We Waiting” — I say goodbye. Sayonara. See ya, hate to be ya.
I am a new woman. Reformed, reimagined, reintegrated into civil society. I am the hot TA. I am the person putting up tutoring fliers on bulletin boards, lamp posts and occasionally the unaware student’s back. Thunder and I are on a first name basis (we’re close in a way you youngsters wouldn’t get). I’ve started returning UBC Cards to the Bookstore lost and found instead of laughing at the suckers who won’t be able to pay for their undercooked dining hall chicken strips. I have blister band-aids in my first-aid kit. I actually charge my portable charger. I carry Tums in my purse, babe.
People say I’m washed up, decaying, nearing the grave, and though they’re generally right, I am nothing if not a glass-half-full kind of girl. So here’s to 21, and here’s what all those restaurant menus are talking about when they say “senior discount.”
Blue Chip
2.1 per cent off black coffee, because that’s what old people drink I guess. After asking the barista what year she’s in — first — and ranting for 15 minutes about the time when my first-year psychology course got scaled down 1 per cent, she threw in a free splash of oat milk for my troubles, though I think she was aiming at my face. Whatever.
UBC bookstore
Twenty-one per cent off all millennial novelty merchandise, because nothing screams “twenty-one” like a quirky pillow shaped like a uterus and some bespoke weiner dog print knee socks. I’ve found that these also work very well for the “sock bun,” which I’m told is an appropriate hairstyle for someone of my seniority.
AMS Nest
Access to an exclusive 21+ lounge. You likely haven’t heard of it, but it’s called “The Gallery” or “The Gal” for short (clever, I know) and it’s where us old people go to down a pitcher of sour beer sip a single glass of red wine whilst journaling, watching the sunset and being able to walk in a straight line.
21+ washrooms
I’d drop the map, but I’m fake so I’m gatekeeping this one. I’m one foot in the grave and you want me to give this up, too?
Real advising
You may be thinking, “Hey, don’t we all get access to advising?” Sure, but have you actually ever received a single piece of advice from an advisor? Fourth, fifth, sixth and… seventh (?) year students are all granted meetings with a secret stash of advisors who’ll help you and care about you and make sure you get your classes and show you how to use Workday and respond to your emails and…
Wreck Beach
Everyone over 21 has access to a personal shoulder-ffeur (like chauffeur, get it?) service wherein a first-year kinesiology student will put you on their shoulders and carry you up and down the Wreck Beach stairs! Creaky knees won’t stop our senior sunset lovers.
The SSC
After experiencing the most fourth- and fifth-year drop outs in a single registration period, UBC has elected to allow students over 21 to continue using the SSC in order to protect student mental health and ensure that their years don’t go to waste because it took them over 20 hours to make their shitty Workday schedule and the six electives they want — plus some, like, “required courses” or whatever — are all in Term 2 from 2–3:30 p.m.
Graduation
One of the most exclusive perks of being over 21? Leaving soon and facing the ever-looming threat of real adult life. No training wheels, no gutter guards, no peaceful mode, no more inputting different email addresses to extend your free monthly trial. Just you and your LinkedIn account against the world.
Haha. But that’s for future you to worry about! Hope this helps!
Share this article
First online
