Likely Normal

College—the hallowed institution where you’ll spend four years mastering the art of discussing postmodernism in coffee shops but graduate without the slightest clue how to unclog a drain. Universities are fantastic at teaching niche skills, like identifying 18th-century French literature motifs or debating ethical frameworks for AI. But ask a recent grad how to negotiate a salary, change a tire, or navigate the Kafkaesque nightmare of health insurance paperwork, and you’ll witness the blank stare of a deer realizing it just majored in Deer Studies with a minor in Crosswalk Hesitation.

The modern college experience is a carefully curated simulation of adulthood, minus the actual adulting. You’ll write a 20-page thesis on the socioeconomic implications of Beowulf, but the extent of your financial literacy is knowing that “Ramen noodles” and “overdraft fees” are both bad. You’ll ace organic chemistry, yet the moment your sink starts gurgling like a demonic possession, you’re frantically Googling “how to bribe a plumber with homemade banana bread.” And let’s not forget the cruel irony of taking a class called “Critical Thinking” while staring helplessly at a washing machine that’s flashing “ERROR E4” like it’s judging your life choices.

Somewhere along the way, higher education decided that “practical skills” were beneath its ivory-tower dignity. Why learn to change a car oil when you can dissect the oil metaphor in Moby-Dick? Who needs CPR training when you’ve got a semester of interpretive dance? The message is clear: You’re here to elevate your mind, not to know how to cook a meal that doesn’t involve a microwave and questionable life decisions.

And then there’s the real-world hazing ritual known as “post-graduation.” You emerge, diploma in hand, only to realize nobody has ever asked you to diagram a sentence in the wild—but everyone expects you to know what a W-2 form is. You’re a wizard at citing sources in MLA format, but the first time you see a lease agreement, you’re half-convinced it’s written in Linear A. The system has failed you, but hey—at least you can tell them exactly how it failed you, using five-syllable words and a Foucault reference.

So here’s to higher education: the only place where you can flawlessly analyze Ulysses but still call your parents at 2 a.m. to ask, “How do I know if my landlord is scamming me?” Maybe one day they’ll offer a major in Actual Survival, but until then, we’ll just keep pretending that knowing how to defrost a freezer is somehow less valuable than understanding the semiotics of medieval heraldry. Priorities!