Social Experiment: How to Erase Wrinkles

So for my art major a new requirement was made that a handful of prereqs are required to be taken before applying to any emphasis. The same classes are required from graphic designers to photographers. So basically it's high school art taken again to make sure you have a broad skill range in artistic basics. Now this doesn't seem peculiar in any way except one; i'm ancient. You see, most people that take the class are freshmen-sophomore because they think they know what they want to do with their lives. Ha, shows how little they know. Ok fine, shows how little I knew at that age. Have I changed my major a few times in my day..... ask my mom, i've told this story too many times.

ANYWAY, getting back to the principle point of this pointless post (that was kinda fun alliteration, no?). So it all started one day in class. One devious thing led to another and now it can't be undone. What can't be undone you ask? Well let me tell you about that fateful day.

After an hour and a half of grueling labor (drawing circles...) my professor (who I love, but has openly admitted he still plays dungeons and dragons...), decided it is time for us to have a ten minute break. I walked out of class with a new friend I made named Whitney. She casually turned to me and sheepishly asked, "so... you're a freshman right?" My eyes glanced from side to side checking my surroundings, only to find us completely alone. I then turned to her and simply replied, "uh, duh!"

After announcing that she was TOTALLY older than me and I should basically grovel at her feet, she proceeded to let the news slowly drift in her conversations with other classmates until everyone in the class thought I was, in fact, a freshman. Now, I know what you're thinking. You think I'm a terrible person and should probably get kicked out of BYU for breaking the honor code. But let me turn the tables here and ask you to put yourself in my shoes. If you could suddenly be 4 years younger, wouldn't you take the opportunity? I mean suddenly people are more willing to date me because I'm not a creepy, desperate return missionary, suddenly I don't have to tell people I have changed my major about six times (wait, I thought I wasn't going to share that....), suddenly which high school I went to is actually a worthwhile bit of knowledge. I mean, I had a chance to relive my life. So I took it. Judge all you want, but deep down you know you would have done it too.

So eventually my conscience began to eat at my soul and I trusted of few of my other classmates with the truth. Bronte and Wes were now the only two that really knew me, and instead of becoming my enemies and rebuking my lies, they took it upon themselves to become my accomplices.

I told Whitney and the rest of the class that I was in fact 23 and they all laughed. "Ya right! Shut up you're totally 19 and you are much too immature to pull off anything else!" Ouch. I told them again that I had lied and that I was 23. Someone from across the room demanded I tell them my birthday immediately. I shouted the truth. They began adding up the years on their pre-calc-freshman-fingers and concluded I was right. "Man he's good!" Came a cry from the inquirer. "Then where did you serve your mission??" Again, I told the truth. "Mongolia? MONGOLIA????? HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! They don't even send missionaries there!" Poor naive freshman. "Then speak some Mongolian!"
"Bi ta nariig mash ih gaihaltai huumuus gej boddog ch gesen, ta nar jaahan teneg yum shig sanagdaj bna aa."

Mongol Script

"Ha, ya what was that? Klingon?" They then demanded I write something. I promptly grabbed some paper and wrote in Mongolian Script (it's more fun than the Cyrillic alphabet Mongolians were forced to use). "What is that elvish?" Came whispers from the masses. Pretty sure they now just think I'm a nerd, not a 23 year old that served in Mongolia.


So I told them that they didn't have to believe me, but I could show my license to prove my age. They laughed and went back to work discrediting my "lies" and feeling confident that they didn't even need to see proof. They later told me I was incredibly good at lying and said I spent too much of my spare time coming up with an alter ego. I finally said, "alright, I actually have told the truth about myself to Bronte and Wes, if you don't believe me, ask them." The class turned to Bronte, she glanced over at me, smiled, and replied, "he's 19."