Months ago, I got an email from AAPA informing me I would be participating in the annual Challenge Bowl. This was news to me. A second later, a classmate emailed. “Hi. I’ve signed you up for the Challenge Bowl because I know you’re going to New Orleans and we need a third person to register. You don’t have to do anything except look pretty.”

On the one hand, I should be flattered that my younger classmates think I’m pretty. On the other, their perception of my competence leaves something to be desired. I’d rather be elsewhere, but here I am, surrounded by young students with more cheer and pep in one finger than I’ve ever possessed in my entire body. There’s a DJ. And some teams wore matching outfits. God help me. Or maybe this is Hell? Two workers think I’m a lost faculty member and try to remove me. The area is for contestants only.

So yes, probably Hell.

We are briefed on the rules and left to stew. People review their notes, which strikes me as insane. Outside, the DJ pumps up the crowd. They sound feral. I sit in the front row and critique the production value. It is average. I could do better, but nobody would care. The main doors eventually open and a stampede of manic students bum-rush to get seats close to the stage. It’s like Black Friday at Walmart and PS5s are selling for 99 bucks. People nearly die. Pushing and other bad behavior is momentarily excused, perhaps encouraged. People dive and lay across seats to save them for their compatriots. The music blasts and the room becomes a dance party. It is pandemonium. I’m losing more of my hearing.

A video of me is taken and published on social media that I will unfortunately never live down. Here’s a screen grab:

Our team is called to the stage, but we never hit the buzzer in time. The three questions go by and our time is done. I notice the onstage speakers aren’t working and it is difficult to hear. I roll my eyes. Typical. We are ushered off stage and thus concludes our participation in this year’s event.

In no context is answering esoteric medical questions in 10 seconds a thing professionally. This entire event is a shameless ploy to addict students to conference culture early. Come for the temporary glory; stay because we need your money for lobbying efforts in DC. Nobody realizes this, likely from recent head trauma just sustained getting to their seats.

The irony of age is that I feel much closer in time to my young classmates than they do to me. They can’t conceive of being 45; to them, I am an Ancient, whereas I was 25 three weeks ago. I remember it vividly. They call me gramps, which amuses me. They think it clever, not understanding that 45 is not actually old, and that they sound ridiculous. I will eventually get the last laugh.

Soon, they will marry and have kids. They will be tired and sore because they recently sneezed and now cannot bend over. Their kids will cruelly and loudly exclaim, “OMG, Mom” — or Dad — “you are so lame!” They will think back to our time together and wonder, “God damn, how did Lance do it so well?”

I can wait. One day, sweet revenge will be mine.