Identity crisis

The start of September means a flurry of activity in Boston. It's the end of summer vacation and the start of a new college (university in Aussie-speak) year. Clusters of college students roam the sidewalks (footpaths in Aussie-speak), and rented moving vans clog the streets. It's as if there's a U-Haul rental van/truck/trailer convention in town. Seriously, is there actually any other bloody vehicle-hire company in this place? Oh yeah, Americans don't understand the use of 'hire' in this context, they use 'rental'.

September has been a period of time where the college-town Boston reawakens, and is also an opportune moment to enjoy looking around at the cute new college-boys, and lament about lost youth. One brief moment that made me feel less ancient occurred at dinner the other night when a waitress decided to engage in polite conversation and mistook me for a Freshman (First-year in Aussiespeak). For one brief spark I was chuffed at the comment, until I suspiciously wondered if this was a tip-garnering exercise, so I quietly corrected her that I had actually finished grad school (i.e. my PhD studies) and thus immediately felt my age again. Yes I am a cynical, jaded bastard. And yes, I did leave a good tip thank you very much.

If a cute waiter asks me if I'm a Freshman in the future, I think I'll lie. Who knows right? wink, wink (shyeah right..). Who cares about an old, bitter postdoc anyway? Ewww, just reading that last sentence turned me off (myself? what? now I'm confused). I'm not actually that old, but I guess it's that premature-senility kicking in again...