Yes, I am a student. For the past three years, I have had to repeat that phrase countless times. I should have just stuck my ID card to my forehead instead of having to pull it out over and over again.
As a 30-something-year-old student, I have encountered obstacles and discrimination, but mostly just a lot of annoyances. When I went to vote for the Student Government Association elections, a bubbly student informed me that only students could participate in the voting process. Hello, I am a student. For every Loyola ballet performance I attended, I was charged full price for my ticket.
During activities such as Loyolapalooza and Hurricane party, I was informed, “These are student activities.” At least I wasn’t carded for the draft beer at these events.
I should have taken advantage of the situation when I did my Christmas shopping at the Loyola bookstore. The cheery cashier in the elf hat informed me that as a faculty or staff member, I was entitled to a 20 percent discount.
It has been quite challenging balancing my college career with raising four kids and working a full-time job. It always cracked me up when my fellow students did not have an assignment prepared due to soccer practice or a sorority party.
The girl next to me in world religions had a major panic attack because she could not find the right color shoes to go with her new Ralph Lauren blazer. Try having a panic attack for a real reason. Imagine you are at work trying to study for a test in between waiting on customers, when you suddenly realize not only do you have the wrong book, but you cannot remember if you turned the stove off when you went home to cook between classes.
The male students have been really sweet and funny. They always hold the door open for me. But, I’m at the age where I don’t appreciate being called ma’am all day long.
Then there are the guys with the Mrs. Robinson complex. Yeah.
Once, I overheard two guys in the quad talking about how life is over once you turn 30, “so you better have all the fun you can now.” I thought I was going to choke.
Another older student confided in me that she didn’t appreciate the way some of the students use inappropriate language in her presence. After all, we have kids the same age as some of these students. I have to remind myself that although I am a mother, I am not a mother of my fellow classmates. Comments like, “gee … that skirt is too short” and “pajamas should not be worn to class” need to be reserved for my own children.
Sure, I guess I could have gone to City College at night or picked somewhere else to pursue my education, but Loyola was a special choice for me. There were no clubs or activities geared especially to us non-traditional students, but I managed to find my place here at Loyola.
I listen to the younger students complain about the food, when I’m just happy to have someone cook a meal for me. I hear the younger students complain about the campus and the faculty and everything else they can think of. Meanwhile, I appreciate the beautiful atmosphere, the state-of-the-art equipment we have to work with and the incredible faculty members who have given to me not only their time, but also the gift of education. And, guess what? I am a student.
Anite Oubre is a communications senior from New Orleans.
