Ah, fifth year seniors. We are a select bunch of shitbirds. Not in grad school or out in the real world, we find ourselves rotting in academic purgatory. We struggle to see how many benefits there are to being in our given lot in life. But there are benefits. Oh yes, there are benefits
You can recognize how much of a shithead you used to be.
As you get shoulder checked by one stupid freshman after the other, you begin to wonder whether you were the same mouth breathing assclown they are. “Wow, I used to suck.” crosses your mind more than once. As much as you refuse to believe, you did look like that much of an idiot.
People ask you for advice.
“Ask the old guy, he knows!” You’ve dealt with enough bullshit in four plus years to know the answer to just about any question they could ask you. You can be there to open a bottle of wine with some string and a screw while the 18 year olds oooooo and ahhhhhh. You know which professors to sign up for and which to avoid like the drunkest fat chick at a party. In this way you feel as if you are a sage among mere mortals.
You know your way around campus.
What I mean is that you know the best place to shit in complete silence and comfort.
You have a network and you use it well.
While freshman throw wadded bills at the bar, you’re laughing off to the side with one of the bartenders that is pouring you free whiskey cokes all night. It paid off covering his ass a few times in finance class. When you think about it, you know a bartender at just about everywhere you can think of worth going. You’re probably on a first name basis with more than one professor. You know plenty of girls in different sororities. Bing, bang, boom.
You have work experience.
Hopefully. Perhaps you are an extraordinary fuck up who has gotten lucky enough to intern at some big name companies. If not, maybe you have been managing as a lifeguard for a few summers. I don’t care. It’s something.
You know how to treat a lady/man.
When it becomes wholly necessary to woo the opposite sex, you have made enough mistakes in the past to have a system in place to do so. Where you used to just get shithoused and expect girls to drop their panties around you, you now realize as an upper-upperclassman that is not how it works for girls your age (if you’re out looking for 18 year olds still, stop reading). You know how to at least grill, buy a bottle of wine, and clean your apartment. When she walks into your wonderfully crafted setup, she might even begin ovulating. You’re that good.
A lot of people go to college for seven years. They’re just called “doctors.” We’ll get there some day.