Sudden realization of imposter tendencies

Tina Bausinger

I have a confession. I’m an imposter. I realized this about ten minutes into a certain English class. It’s kind of a sinking feeling.

I should have known something was up when I went to the bookstore to buy the textbooks for the class. About $5000 later, I walked out and practically sprained my arm trying to get the books into my car. One of the books I bought was about the size of the Magna Carta.

So there I am, the first day of class, with my notebook, a couple of pencils and yours truly. I’m feeling pretty proud I even made it. I drove like a maniac in my minivan to make it on time and was just impressed I made it to class without a gummy bear stuck to my butt.

My old van is pretty messy right now. I haven’t had time to clean it recently. When I say “recently,” I mean the last two years.

I get mad when the kids don’t lock it or roll the windows up, but not because I’m worried about theft. I just don’t want any stray cats or neighbor kids to wander in there because I’d never know it until I heard crying or smelled something weird.

I digress.

The first thing I notice about the class is practically everybody has a laptop, which automatically makes them look smarter.

If I brought my laptop, everyone would crack up. First of all, it’s a couple of years old, so you know it’s obsolete.  Second, it seems really, really big compared to everyone else’s. It’s the equivalent of driving a Cadillac into a parking lot full of Priuses. I’ve seen apartments on campus that are smaller.

Third, the battery barely lasts longer than Obama’s popularity in the polls, and it would take up as much desk space as my new printer.

So not cool. Oh, well.