Okay, I promised y'all the Psch 101 story.
So it's 1985. I'm 19. In my young foolishness (and resentment toward my mother...oh lord...now I've promised another post, haven't I?) I have tossed away a full scholarship to a private liberal arts college in Louisiana and returned to the Coast to live with my dad and work at a taco stand on the beach. Reminder to all y'all not to be so harsh judging your children's life choices.
A full year after I've graduated high school, I enroll at the local junior college. It is literally named after the president of the Confederacy. I take a full 12 hours but other than freshman English and Psych 101, the classes were utterly forgettable.
My Psych teacher was this little short lady. I'm guessing now that she was less than five feet tall and probably in her early 40s? I liked the class. Like college freshman everywhere I toyed with majoring in psychology. I'm a good listener, I thought. I like to help my friends with their problems.
The theories we studied were fascinating to me. Again, I was a 19-year-old, diving deep into The Doors for the first time. I was reading Brave New World and Nietzsche. I started talking to this kid in my class. He had curly blond hair and was more a surfer dude than a Rude Boy, so not really my type. But he liked The Doors.
Our Psych class was right after lunch so we started eating together before class in the student union. I remember talking music with him, but not much else. One day we decided to cut out and smoke some weed.
The two of us plus another friend of his drove across to the Back Bay to his house. I guess that's where his weed was? We got high and listened to The Doors' debut album. He let me take the record with me. (I hesitate to admit that I never returned it. Seriously, never lend a record to me.) We hurried back to campus for our Psych class.
And it was Freud day. His friend attended with us.
(A lot of my community college storylines include people visiting classes apparently.)
That poor little lady started lecturing on the id, ego and superego. I can only imagine that the three of us just sat there glassy-eyed. Until she got to penis envy.
I mean, if there is ever a class that you do NOT want to be stoned in, this is the class.
That poor wee teacher began explaining Freud's theory that young women experience anxiety upon realizing that they're missing their penis, and that sex is their opportunity to get their penis back.
I mean...get their penis back come on!
And while the other students may have squirmed a bit uncomfortably in their desks, my posse and I giggled and tittered uncontrollably. No doubt, we came across as the least mature souls in the room.
It makes me laugh just thinking about it. I pride myself on having a very mature sense of humor. I like smart witticisms, not base humor. And yet I wouldn't trade this memory for all the respect in the world.