Five students you should protest

Mr. Masters meets the Theoretical Humanitarian: A figure worthy of protest if ever there was one
Photo by david_shankbone via Flickr

This has nothing to do with tuition. Or the election. It’s a personal pet peeve, not a political one, and it always flares up in early September. The students are back, and even the ones wearing red squares have them pinned to frat-approved “puke suits” or Bedazzled sweatpants. Here are the five worst offenders. Whether they’re hogging the benches at Olympico or peeing on your stoop at 3 a.m., you probably already know who they are.

Mr. Masters
He’s cool, he’s hip, he’s 35. Come September, this would-be lothario is on the prowl, lecturing fawning 19-year-old co-eds on everything from politics to which bands are “really” worth listening to. Like that scene in Good Will Hunting, he’s only as smart as his last degree, and his appeal lies almost entirely in the fact that he has existed on Earth longer than the women he dates.
Find him: In your Intro to English Lit class (hint: he’s the one helping your prof teach the class. Or is your prof).
Choice quote: “Let me take you to this little deli I know. It’s called Schwartz’s.”
Why he’s the worst: He thinks he’s making strangers’ picnics magical when, unsolicited, he whips out his acoustic guitar and strums off-key Bob Dylan.

Theoretical Humanitarian
A bleeding heart is easy to sustain when you’ve got Mommy and Daddy’s money for life support. She thinks she’s slumming it in an Outremont 6 ½  but can’t figure out why you’re eating Kraft Dinner instead of Annie’s Organic pasta shells. Somehow, she still borrows money from you and, when you remind her about it, she calls you superficial.
Find her: On Etsy, selling “vintage” “finds” (c. 1999) for weed money.
Choice quote: “Who cares if it’s my turn to do the dishes? Don’t you know there are people dying in Darfur?”
Why she’s the worst: That kitten she rescued with her new boyfriend is going to be your problem in about six months, when they decide to bicycle through India.

Practical Asshole
Montreal is just a pit stop between Hamilton and Toronto for this business-minded man-child. He’s here for a McGill diploma, lax drinking laws and unprotected sex with Girls With Low Self-Esteem(TM).
Find him: On St-Laurent and Prince Arthur — as instructed by his older brother — trying to figure out where all the hot clubs have gone (and what the heck he’s supposed to do with all this Rohypnol now).
Choice quote: “So what are you going to do with your communications degree, exactly?”
Why he’s the worst: He’s already got a job lined up.

Ex-Beauty Queen
The rumours of Montreal’s beautiful women may be exaggerated, but in a college town that’s so multicultural (at least until the next election), they are hardly a rare sight. The Ex-Beauty Queen rolls into town with all the smugness of a fake-tanned blonde from a high school where Jessica Simpson was the pinnacle of beauty.
Find her: At a kegger, with the dude who just figured out that no one cares about his high school football team.
Choice quote: “Oh my god, I think I put on the Freshman 15 — right, guys? Right? Guys?”
Why she’s the worst: She’s not, really. In fact, her existence says a lot about the pressures put on women by the media and society and their myopic depictions of female beauty. But, boy, is it funny to spot the look of panic on her face when she goes out for a drink and notices the bar staff makes America’s Next Top Model look like a Zellers catalogue.

Instant Montrealer
Have you been to that great new restaurant in (godhelpus) Mile-Ex? Do you know where that cool underground supper club is? Don’t worry, he’ll tell you. And when he’s not going bowling in a bar or heading to a bike-in movie, he’s laughing at you for still living below St-Joseph.
Find him: Oh, you wouldn’t know the place.
Choice quote: “Well, I guess, technically, I’m from Halifax, but I’ve been here for almost 19 months.”
Why he’s the worst: Like excessive Facebook usage, being friends with this guy will make you wonder whether you are making the most of your life in Montreal. (NB: The Instant Montrealer’s existence is threatened the moment he starts paying taxes or seriously looking for a job, at which point he becomes the Guy Who Just Realized Toronto is Actually Pretty Cool, Everyone). ■