There are many ironies that occur within the walls of every college campus. For instance, it is ironic that we call it “free speech” when we want to promote our own ideas and “indoctrination” when we hear something we don’t like. Other ironies include pursuing college degrees while not going to class, having two hit songs one making unfaithfulness look *h0ttt* and the other condemning your partner for cheating on you (is Rihanna in college? Maybe this one doesn’t apply), and charging everything to your bursar account and living one day at a time, etc.
Clearly college campuses thrive on irony.
But lately, I have been questioning what I so often presume to be “ironic”. According to dictionary.com, a definition for irony is “an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected.” Before I started questioning myself, I might have called it ironic that approximately every time I walk through my neighborhood on my way to class or back to my house, something odd happens. But this would only be ironic if I believed my neighborhood to be completely normal when I am not walking through it. And needless to say, I would be a very foolish person if I assumed “normal” to be the status quo of any environment where people dwell and do strange things, as people so normally do.
So if I believe my neighborhood to be a sanctuary for strangeness even when I am not there to witness every moment of it, then weird things that happen to me while walking through my neighborhood should be expected. And if “expected” is another word for normal (and according to thesaurus.com, it is), then we must conclude that the events that occur to me while walking to and from class are not ironic, but normal. That being said, I would like to mention the normal occurrence I was forced to witness on my way home from class only moments ago.
It started with a small black dog which came running to me from the yard of a home I do not know if it belonged to. You might think that my story is that a dog followed me around the neighborhood but that is not worth telling by itself because I am often accompanied by canine friends on my way to class for reasons I cannot explain. So I was amused in watching this cute little dog run in and out of the streets, then back to me, then back to a random yard, etc. But soon my amusement turned into anxiety because although my neighborhood does not have a lot of traffic, this dog was clearly oblivious to its surroundings. I suddenly envisioned this dog being hit by a car and my poor little eyes having to see it. It could be called ironic that my foresight turned into reality, or it could be called ironic that a dog-lover had to see a dog and the front wheels of a truck collide. But I can no longer call it irony that something like this happened on my daily walk through my neighborhood (nor was it ironic when a random guy in a truck asked me if I wanted a ride, or when a woman with facial hair told me that her dad used to sing her German lullabies, as these things have also occurred to me while walking through my neigborhood).
It is ironic that my foresight turned into reality because that so rarely happens. It was ironic that I, a dog lover, witnessed a dog get run over because that rarely happens as well. But after so many times of calling random neighborhood incidents “ironic”, by very definition, I have been forced to start calling these same incidents “normal”. And so I have given in to the normalness of what I used to perceive as weird and unnatural. As a college student, I should probably try to focus more on the ironies within my campus’ walls. Because whenever I leave the safety of said walls, I am forced to enter the real and normal world where dogs are run over before my very eyes. But if such normalness occurs outside of Collegeland, then maybe I don’t want to ever leave. But then I would be what one would call a “professional college student” and if anything is ironic, that is.
Epilogue: The dog is okay. It appeared that only one of his fours legs was hurt. The owner of the truck turned around, got out of his truck, said a few words I won’t repeat, and then asked me what he should do…as if I could think rationally, I just watched a dog almost die. But apparently he was more traumatized than I and finally I suggested he take the dog to the vet and they could call the owners from there. So the sweet little dog is okay and that guy’s day is ruined and I merely walked home to write about it.