My associates and I, as a collective unit, cannot pay our bills. And it isn’t because we don’t believe in the concept of paying bills, or that we don’t try.

In actuality, we have developed a wide array of bill-paying methods, from the One-Poor-Soul-Stuck-with-the-Checking-Account scenario where all the money is funneled into one bank account, to the vastly popular but overrated Each-to-his-own method where the individual is responsible for his fraction of the total bill. Incidentally, neither one is more effective than the other, as they have both failed consistently in the all important bill paying facet of actually placing the correct amount of money in the Utility Fairy’s hand by the due date. As tenants, as college students, as legal adults, we are horrible, horrible people.

Unfortunately, numerous parents across the country send their children off to school each year, under the assumption that by living on their own, young Joe or Jane College will learn such admirable merits as personal responsibility and minor plumbing repair.

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Well, here’s the deal. It isn’t happening. I’ve been here nearly four years, I’m four weeks away from a Bachelor of Science Degree, and I don’t know a damn thing about anything.

Yes, on occasion, I’ve been able to get my credit card bill in the mail on time, and I’ve figured out that tip amount is indirectly proportional to beverage turnaround time. I can give you directions to Thompson Point from Thompson Woods, and one day I changed the full vacuum bag with a vacuum bag that didn’t seem as full at the time, but that’s about the extent of it. I possess no real-life skills.

It’s obvious that I need some real-life learning. And I’m not alone, just ask my roommates.

The possible solution to our problems? A class in real-life. A 200 level course in Real-Life Mechanics, complete with professor, TA and scan-‘ tests.

Please, for the love of God, somebody explain to me how to do laundry without spending five hours drying denim. Teach me how to feed myself without the aid of pre-cooked pasta stuff or a value meal. Which bugs are dangerous and which ones are only unpleasant eye sores? Why can’t I find a trash bag that actually stays on the trash can? And how can one 3-by-10 room contain so many divergent odors, and what can I do about the more nauseating ones?

And this is just the tip of the iceberg. How about somebody teach me how to read a bus schedule, or walk me through the process of locating a lost wallet? I needed help, but it might be to late for me. I’m about to be sent into the real world, still convinced that shampoo can be used for dish soap, and vice versa. Somewhere along the way, I needed guidance.

Perhaps this column will initiate serious discussion about the possibility of placing such a course in the University curriculum. Or perhaps it will once again find its use as cage lining for the family canary.

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