The Observer, March 28, 2008
Volume XL, Issue 22
Worst Case Scenario: The cure for senioritis
The other day, I was hard at work on a paper, when I paused mid-sentence and started to imagine life as a castaway on a deserted tropical island. I figured out how I would clean my laundry in a nearby fresh water stream, and how I would obtain food by training the native fauna to fetch fruits and berries from the wilderness. I was working through the finer points of warding off a pirate invasion when I remembered that I had been in the middle of a thrilling essay on 20th century agrarian horse ownership, and promptly snapped back to reality. My head was resting at a forty-five degree angle on my shoulders, and a lake of drool was rapidly sinking into my sweatshirt. As I shifted back into a normal posture, resuming my academic chore, I wondered if there was a pill I could take to combat this insidious college-age illness: senioritis.
It is this feeling of guilt-filled, inescapable lethargy that has caused many a grown student to abandon the fight just weeks before graduation. It is to blame for many a devastating failure, and can be found at the root of many an abysmal exam, late paper, or pathetic presentation.
One of the most tragic aspects of senioritis can simply be found in the name. This accursed disease is not limited to senior students, but rather has seduced many a bright up-and-coming scholar. All underclassmen have fallen prey to losing themselves in exciting daydreams for hours at a time. Not even the threat of academic and professional failure can inoculate potential victims.
As someone whose senioritis has recently progressed to nearly terminal stages, I thought I was a lost cause, until the miraculous happened. Someone came into my life that gave me a powerful desire to achieve more than I have been. He was my neighborhood vacuum salesman.
I don't usually allow salesmen into my humble off-campus apartment, but my friend was training to become a vacuum salesperson herself, so I made an exception. The vacuum was impressive. Even more impressive was the amount of dirt it pulled from my couch. Then they decided to demonstrate the extreme dirt-fighting power of the vacuum on my mattress. Needless to say, I chased them as they scampered into my bedroom, but to no avail. They entered my pigsty of a room, where every piece of laundry I owned was on the floor. The salesman was friendly about it, but in a misguided effort to assuage my clear discomfort, said, "Your room is nothing compared to my four year old nephew's – his is even worse!"
At that point I lost interest in the vacuum, and, after turning down a slightly alarming six-year payment plan, sent the salespeople packing. Immediately thereafter, I began to clean. And I didn't stop. My room and my whole apartment are now cleaner than ever. I even started doing my homework. I took a renewed interest in my studies. My senioritis was cured – all because I looked like a fool in front of a vacuum salesman!
I am a new woman since my revelatory vacuum salesperson experience. Now that I know the cure, I can't help but share with others. So think about it – maybe it's time you considered buying a vacuum.
