Opinion: Higher, Clueless, or Heartless Education?

For humor's sake I sometimes wish my online banking would simply flash in big red letters the words "FLAT BROKE" across the screen instead of showing my actual balance. That is, if I have an actual balance and am not overdrawn, as I usually am.

"That's okay," I think to myself. "The United States of America has a debt of $10.7 trillion; I should be fine."

These were some of the thoughts running through my head as I wandered somewhat aimlessly through the textbook section of the university bookstore. Starting my final semester, I had gone to my first few days of classes hoping I'd get the feeling that buying the textbook for the course wouldn't be necessary. However, my paranoia got the best of me as the awful daymare of someone telling me I wasn't going to graduate because of a failing grade I made that I could have avoided had I spent the extra dough to buy the textbook back in January.

In my efforts to resist buying the textbooks, I hadn't even looked at the possible costs. I usually order most of my books online to save money but now my scheme to not buy them at all had backfired and forced me into buying them all right away, also missing most of the used prices.

As the bill grew fifteen minutes into my tragic shopping spree, I was facing a rainbow of emotions. I was red with anger at the costs, green with envy toward all the kids getting off easy, and blue with sadness and despair for my current financial situation.

Finally I arrived to my last class: Magazine Writing.

Thank God. It's a writing class and oh and look here! It says on the syllabus that they're both in paperback! Good man that Dr. Riley.

Then I glanced down on the shelf and my heart sank. The first book was around twenty dollars, semi-reasonable, but the second book--barely thicker than some magazine themselves--was going to jack my wallet of $60. Sixty! Dr. Riley later apologized in disbelief when he found out the price of the book.

Now I need to be careful here less I want to offend or anger anyone. I consider myself extremely fortunate. I'm young and I'm healthy. I'm graduating from one of Virginia's best universities and will be heading to an undetermined law school next year for further education.

None of the current recession horror stories really apply to me. I'm not losing my house, although that may be because I've lived for four years in a cinder block square cell they call a dorm room.

I don't starve myself to save money, although when my university meal plan runs out almost two months before the semester ends I eat more 10-cent Ramen Noodles than my doctor would care to know about (at the ripe age of 20 I was all but diagnosed with hypertension).

I haven't lost my job, although my current one as an RA pays obscenely low for the amount of time, stress and drunk kids you have to put up with. To make up for the unexpected cost of my books I'm getting a job working from 10 p.m.- 2:30 a.m., three nights a week at DX--the only on-campus late-night eatery, which once again, I'm sure I will be visited by a good share of drunk kids.

But I try not to complain or engage in self-pity. If I may borrow some words from our enlightened 43rd president at his final press conference, "It's just--it's pathetic, isn't it, self-pity. I tell people that, you know, some days happy, some days not so happy, every day has been joyous." I thank the former president for all that he's done for me and this country--that is--mainly providing me with that quote to put in this essay.

The bottom line is that times are tough. We all know that. Some have it tougher than others. Some are seeing their thousands in retirement money fly right out the window just years before they were planning to settle down. Others, like myself, will have to hope there's still a job and an economy waiting for us when we come out of law school with thousands of dollars of debt at the start of our profession lives.

I wondered what hardships the girl that took my credit card at the checkout in the bookstore was facing as I walked back in the frigid Blacksburg weather to my cinder block cell. Glancing down into my new bag I goodies, I really wished it would turn back into a bag of money.

It's sad really, as higher education touts itself as just that--higher education. For such a collection of higher, smarter people, they sure are missing the boat on this recession thing. How about a little student bailout?

How much of a fantasy would it be to go to class and have an understanding professor say, "Forget about that $100 book, we'll just test off of class material," or "Don't worry about that $30 iClicker, the university will provide those--it's part of that 'Technology Fee' on your bill."

Whether it's a lack of organization, will, smarts, compassion, or pragmatism, it's a shame that something can't be done to ease the minds and wallets of uneasy students who just want to trade their hard work and ideas for a fair shake. The most promising thing left is believing that even kids with empty bank accounts are rich with the dreams and optimism needed to dig us out of this mess.