They only want you when you're 17

So, 21 came and went. I don't feel any different. I'm sober and I'm hungry and I have only a handful of events to mark the milestone. They are as follows: One bar room brawl, one chipped tooth, head hit against the sidewalk, being held in a chokehold, and getting tossed around between two burly men like the ball in Pong. It sounds a lot more glamorous than it was, really. The highlight of my barfday was an emergency visit to my dentist's office to have the chip repaired. I guess I can tangent at this point.

Dental visits annoy me. Not because a relative stranger (is that an oxymoron?) has his hands in my mouth, but more because of the one-sided conversation. I realize that complete silence is awkward. But when he asks me questions, does he really expect me to answer? You can only smile and nod so many times.

Dr. Dentist sprays something at my tooth and then vacuums it back up and asks me how the GRE preparation is going. I smile and give him a thumbs up, which is somehow supposed to indicate that it's going terribly and that I haven't even looked at the practice book yet. He tells me he sympathizes with test takers. He asks what I want to do with a master's degree and/or Ph.D. in English. Great. This question generally can't be answered even when I don't have 14 dental instruments in my mouth. How do I approach it now? I can't smile and nod. I can't shrug. You don't go to graduate school and shrug about why you're there. He waits a few seconds longer for a response and asks me if I will teach. In quiet desperation I nod, even though I know teaching is a last resort. It angers me a little that his conclusion is so in line with the stereotype. I wanted to spit the tools out, look him squarely in the face, and tell him, "At the risk of sounding like Valerie Solanas, read my manifesto and it will tell you who I am."

I am 21 and I feel old.