Why does everyone turns into a boring bastard when they graduate?
It’s a disease I’m losing my mates to
Leaving uni is an emotional rollercoaster of tears, empty promises and goldrush shags.
But when you’re feeling nostalgic you’ve got those photos of your best pal running about in his underwear in halls and endless drunken status updates at 10am on a Thursday morning when you should have been in class.
Your parents think you went to uni for an education – but really it’s about painful mornings wrapped in your best mate’s onesie mustering the courage to look at the string of drunk dials from the night before and concocting the latest excuse to get that essay extension.
So why is it when you all bugger off to do your respective jobs/gap years/painful move back home does everyone suddenly become so bloody boring?
Boring-as-fuck status updates
Remember when you only updated your status to find out when your exams were and who was going out that night?
And you wouldn’t dream of doing a serious update about your life. That would be boasting, that’s bad online behaviour. You reserved 50 per cent of your wit for your weekly, non-committal, hilarious nuggets of wisdom.
But graduates think they used up their finite supply of sarcasm in their time at uni.
Look, it’s great you got a job, it’s great you’re not going to be paying your parents rent while you slave away at the local Asda wondering what the fuck went wrong, but you used to be the champion of downing VKs and rarely went on a night out without losing some item of clothing.
I hardly recognise this person who is “delighted” with their new stove and excited to shop around for the best broadband deal.
What happened to the capital letters, to the lack of punctuation, to the excitement of celebrating with a party at yours?
You weren’t a wholesome human being six months ago – stop pretending you’re so fucking grown up now you need to wheedle your life story in a less digestible manner than a Katie Hopkins’ column.
Along with a certificate, thousands of graduates emerge in the cruel adult world with an uncontrollable twitch to update everyone about their achingly dull lives. And they always bookend their news with exclamation marks, the most desperate piece of punctuation.
You might as well sign up for Dignitas now.
Boasting online has never been enjoyable for any of the poor sods scrolling through their newsfeed looking for a distraction from their looming exam, and your ego-driven masturbation about your new-found wage packet will just make the poor bastard gag instead of smile.
Force-feeding me pictures of your suave new “ride” is the same as offering me the tissues you use to mop up your cry-wanks when I sneeze because some of us still can’t afford to turn on our heating at winter.
You might be living the dream but it’s not the same when you’ve got nae mates to share it with.
I’d rather hold my friend’s hand as we try and traverse the evils of rush hour on the tube in last night’s clothes than take a drive out to the country in your new convertible.
You’re not married
Remember the couples at uni who were joined at the hip?
You and your friends would look on with pity as they swapped nights out for nights in on the sofa, hangover takeaways for gourmet dinners and music festivals for city breaks.
Likelihood is you’re now one of them.
I’m all for the couples who fuck off around the world together. I’m all for the couples that move to the same city and support each other.
Hell, some of my best mates have even moved in with their other halves and, yeah, it’s working for them.
But they know it’s a big step, not a fucking engagement.
The number of couples who have fallen into some loved-up, nest-building, parallel universe makes me panic to come face to face with an attractive man in case I end up trapped in some boring twosome that’s forgotten how to roll a 20 or go for two nights straight.
You might be in love (and I’m very happy for you FYI), but please stop violating my news feed with pictures of your recently-bought IKEA dinner table and evenings spent painting your living room fucking magnolia.
And let’s not even get into couples’ dinner parties. Because, believe me, my mates would be equally as shocked if you pitched up to one of our parties with a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon asking for the wifi password because you have to check when the last bus home is.
There were always people guilty of sickening 6am gym selfies deliberately taken to make the rest of the world feel useless.
But when you graduate gym selfies are no longer enough – that’s what you did at uni. So people up their game and post-graduation you’re inundated with long-winded statuses about running, of all things.
Don’t get me wrong – I run. But not enough to ram it down the poor 900-odd people on my Facebook who are just trying to battle morning traffic getting to work.
At this rate you’re going to end up like one of those Jennifer Aniston wannabes who can’t stop talking about how they’re so much fitter now than they were when they were a teenager.
Don’t download the app that shows me your route. I couldn’t care less. Unless I could afford a car to run you over, and then I might pay more attention.
And if you’re doing it for charity, call me up and annoy me until I donate. Don’t post it online every day to show me just how “inspired” you are by Childreach and you’re “channeling” that into “shaving” three minutes off your PB.
Saturday nights off
When you were a student every night was fair game. Personally, it’s a habit I’m struggling to let go of. As long as my work doesn’t suffer I’m going to abuse this super power of being able to run on three hour’s sleep, no food and other people’s energy until one of my newly married, BMW-driving, mortgage-hunting pals stages an intervention.
But not everyone has that attitude, or even a shadow of that attitude: “I want to be fresh for Monday at work so I can’t go out on Saturday.”
You received a higher education – you are aware there is an extra day between Saturday and Monday called Sunday, right? Or have all those exclamation marks gone to your head?
Let it go
On the other end of the spectrum are the people who just can’t leave Unay behind. You and your girls have had your third reunion six months after graduating – do you think maybe you can’t make new friends because you’re boisterous, childish behaviour is as mind-numbingly dull as your ex-flatmate’s godson’s third birthday?
You don’t have to become a middle-aged housekeeper the minute you graduate, but you also don’t have to stay the same alcohol-soaked, non-committal ape who still lives by the mantra “any hole’s a goal”.
Some people find leaving uni terrifying – but the next stage can be so much fun if you just do it right.
It’s thrilling starting a career that makes you excited rather than sick to wake up on a Monday morning.
The fun graduates are the people who balance the two and don’t pollute their online presence with bids of validation that reek of the same desperation you cringe at when looking over your “Freshers” photo album.
Get it together, people. You’re in your twenties. No, we’re not Peter Pan, but I’m tired of seeing the best people I knew bite the prematurely ageing dust.