“College is worthless. Your much better doing what you want. College is giving up the best years you’ve got.” He had an agenda, delivering the lines in a tone that sounded like they had been delivered before. “What school do you guys go to?
“Hawken.” In unison.
“I knew a kid who went there. He goes to Miami University now.” He moves several inches closer, placing his left hand on our table for support while resting his right hand on John’s shoulder. John smiles, but his eyes look uneased. “He’s wasting his life, I’m telling him. Colleges help nobody but the people who own ‘em.” At this point, Eve loses control of her laugh, letting loose an awkward gasp of sorts, which our lecturer immediately notices.
By half past two o’clock in the morning, everyone who’s over 21 in Coventry Village is likely drunk. Students from various colleges and universites (and high school students in some case) flock to the area in order to satisfy their need for alcohol, sex, and weed. Nightclubs like “The B-Side Liquor Lounge” stand responsible for most of the area’s late night traffic. This is not a rebellious youth, this is a die-hard, partying, and playful youth.
“What the hell are you laughing at? I’m dead serious. Don’t laugh at this shit.” His words are slurred and he stumbles while trying remain stationary. “Don’t be punks.”
“Thanks, but we’re trying to eat,” I tell him.
“Look at you, kid. I liked you guys, but this guy,” he says, pointing to me, “is an ass.” Eve’s chuckle popped the cork. We all laugh nervously.
With the growing influx of partiers, Coventry Village has, in the past decade, seen a rapid expansion of the number of Cleveland Heights police officers who frequent the area. Most of the locals and all of the students despise the cops, who, rather than breaking up the numerous fist fights or halting the frequent drug use, prefer to bust pedestrians for speeding/surpassing the alotted time on the parking meter. Consensus says they’re more of a problem than they could be.
I ask him to leave for a second time. Our sandwiches are delivered to the table, and we all just really want to get at ‘em, but here’s this asshole trying to censure us for pursuing higher levels of education because he likely dropped out after spending a semester or two inebriated. I say that because he’s drunk. We just want to eat our sandwiches.
“Who do you think you are, kid?” I look at John, and we silently agree to get up and go. We grab our sandwiches. Eve and Hannah catch the cue and do the same. He backs off, offended. “You’re not gonna listen to what I have to say? Respectful.” He’s still slurring and stuttering.
“I’m sorry, but we have to go.” We walk out of Dave’s Cosmic Subs and find a bench, where we sit down and eat. He’s too drunk to follow.
It’s hard to tell whether it’s the kids or the cops who are the bigger problem.
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