WAITING FOR THE INVITE
Confessions of a commuter student 

Commentary by Joe Shearer

We sealed the deal in early December. That is, after about a year of dating, my girlfriend and I finally called it quits.

Some would say it’d be easier and a lot less messy to wait until after Christmas when everyone could comfortably exchange gifts and families could smile and believe everything was all right. But then you have all that “living a lie” crap, and yada, yada, yada … whatever.

Truth is, we were in a long-distance relationship. No, not the kind you’re thinking. She lives on campus, while I have about an hour-long haul from Medina. Although we’re from the same town and go to the same school, the distance between us was immeasurable.

While I worked full time and had a full course load, she’d sit in her dorm after classes watching everyone around her having a good time. When we finally did hang out, I was tired and only wanted to see her. I was like a little boy who caught a butterfly in a glass jar, wanting her all for myself, not realizing I was smothering her in the process. She grew more and more distant, and although I was ultimately the one who ended it, she had escaped me months earlier.

It’s not easy being a commuter student. Clubs, organizations, meetings, parties — hell, even viewing the endless albums of photos on Facebook — it feels like one big party I wasn’t invited to.

Sure, it’s a dream being 23 years old, not paying rent and mooching off your parents for food. But when you’re trying to get something more from campus than an education ...

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.

All work and no play … oh, sorry.

Turns out, I’m technically in the majority. According to Kent State’s 2007-2008 Fact Book, 11,780 students commuted to campus, as opposed to 6,310 living on campus in Fall 2007. Of course, a “commuter” can be any one of thousands of people living in Portage (non-residential students), Summit or Stark counties. However, the 30 or so miles I traveled almost daily led to more difficult decisions.

I’d finished my first semester writing for the entertainment section of the Daily Kent Stater, and both my editors recommended me to take over this semester. That was kind of them. The pay was better, but more importantly, it couldn’t hurt my chances of getting a better internship.

Again and again, I went over it in my mind: Could I balance working a minimum of 32 hours a week at Borders to get benefits with 16 credit hours of classes and still manage to be an editor?

It’d be interesting. I’d be like one of those red-helmeted Japanese guys in that game show “MXC.” Except if I tried running uphill, and someone chucked a giant boulder at my head, who knows if I’d get back up again.

As for the rest of my fellow, trigger-itchin’ commuting classmates, sometimes you just need to laugh at yourself to stay sane. A musician I once interviewed said this is the line she lives by while touring: When life gives you lemons, squeeze them until the juice runs down your legs.

Yeah, it’s a drag when professors automatically assume the whole class has extra time to hang around the library. Like I don’t have to work at 8 a.m. the next day. But sometimes those outside-of-class activities make for fun stories.

The day before Valentine’s Day last year, I was supposed to cover this stand-up comedy event. Besides almost getting my mom’s Accord stuck multiple times in blizzard-like conditions that night, I remember having to run like an idiot in more than a foot of snow from the Music and Speech C-lot to the Student Center because I thought I was late.

Another time, my editor called me into the newsroom to write a 200-word brief I could’ve done at home and e-mailed to her. At the time, she had no idea I was a commuter. Now, she feels really bad about it, which makes me feel a little better about the whole thing.

Distance isn’t the only disadvantage of being a commuter.

After the breakup, my ex-girlfriend immediately started showing interest in another guy. So, what did I do? I went after a girl completely out of my class, naturally. It was mostly in the name of good old-fashioned revenge, of course, except it blew up in my face when I fell for her.

She was this hip, modern party girl who had lots of friends and did the whole fashion shebang. I started to like her, and by the third time we hung out, we held hands. I was so proud.

Held hands? asks my friend on AIM a few days later. Dude, she’s a college girl, insinuating all college girls want to drop their pants after the second or third date.

What did I know about college dating? I felt like 15-year-old Max Fischer must have felt in the movie Rushmore when he tried to work his best friend’s hot mom one day after school.

“How’d it go?” asks one of the other boys.

“I shook hands with her,” Max says coolly.

“Big deal,” he retorts, then references the school bully. “Buchan said he’d have already banged her by now.”

To a certain extent, my friend was right. Nothing came of the other girl, and I was left even more confused and jaded about everything. I didn’t and still don’t know the first thing about college other than the learning experience. With only one semester remaining, I guess I’ll never really get it. You people, your parties and your cliques are all completely foreign to me.

Since the beginning of the semester, my ex and I stumbled back into each other and are trying to work things out. I want her to give me more attention, while she wants me to be less of a recluse. I mingled with a couple of her friends the other night. That seemed to make her happy. Baby steps, you know?

Why be a victim of a bad situation when you can squeeze the hell out of those lemons?

Joe Shearer is a senior magazine journalism major. This is his third story for The Burr.