I had a long week. I spent it training to be an instructor in Rhetoric at USF. The course work and mandatory sports coat with leather elbow patches didn’t intimidate me. What worried me was that I was expected to be a role model for over 40 incoming freshman. This is a particularly daunting task considering that my Google identity includes videos of me chugging beer at CL’s Beer Club and an extensive online account of my attempts to pick up women. Let’s just hope that the pictures of me at that bachelorette party don’t emerge.
After a week of training, one thing was certain: I needed a disguise. Something that would make me look tough. Naturally my mind wandered to actors, whose job it is to obscure their perverse lifestyles in order to appear tough on screen; maybe I needed a six-shooter or one of those mean-looking bandolier belts strapped across my chest. Or maybe I should be a little more subtle. From experience I know I look particularly threatening in a wig and a fake mustache that would put Charles Bronson to shame.
I thought over these foolproof schemes to appear as a respectable member of society as I drank heavily at Limey’s Friday during this month’s beer club.
This article appears in Aug 20-26, 2008.