[ WP ] Humans have - by a very large margin - the longest lifespans of all intelligent life in the universe . You are a human student at a multi- species college , and you / your friends are just realizing that compared to them , you are an ancient being .

“ Well, it kind of just sat there, ” I tried to explain. “ There was no wearing it, well, back then at least. We generally kept one in any room where we sit a lot… you know… the living room, bedroom, so on. ” 
 
 My classmates all turned to each other, their whispers a low hum as they contemplated what I said. A small squirrel-thing squeezed her way through the crowd and looked up at my face, her large eyes open in captivation. “ And you… you just sit there and watch it? How long does it really take for a message to be processed by you? ” 
 
 I sighed. I knew there was no way I could explain my TV habits without sounding like a slob to these people. “ It was mostly for entertainment, ” I began. “ We had everything from 7-second funny videos to two-hour feature films. It wasn ’ t used for information, really. Well, except the news… but most of us got it out of blogs and websites. Reddit, facebook… you know? ” I could tell by their expressions that they didn ’ t. 
 
 The little squirrel girl looked horrified. She stepped back in disgust and put her hands to her temples, trying to process what she just heard. “ Two hours? And you didn ’ t even learn anything from it? You were just bored? You spent an entire work day watching one film? ” 
 
 I tried to use the opportunity to make my people sound productive. “ Our workdays… they can be 8 hours—even more so for some particularly hard-workers! ” I announced proudly, thinking back to my parents, each working graveyard shifts to put me into this intergalactic studies program. “ A lot of people have to work two jobs because our economy got all messed up… after… ” I trailed off. 
 
 In the entire crowd, there was only a handful who were even tall enough to reach my waist, and yet I could feel the weight of their beady, judgmental eyes, branding me with their silent criticism. I was a member of a rare, ancient race, and yet so far I ’ ve provided them with nothing about my own people except embarrassing failures and shocking statistics of our unproductiveness. 
 
 “ It takes you eight hours to do your work? I read that there were nearly 8 billion humans though! How can all your collective work take so long? ” the squirrel girl squeaked at me. 
 
 “ Well, we have a lot of forms and stuff. It takes a lot of time. And we don ’ t really work together… we work for companies… it ’ s really kind of a competition… ” 
 
 “ So you make your own forms that make your work take up a third of the day? ” her face continued to twist into more and more horrified expressions. “ And then you just fight each other? ” 
 
 “ We don ’ t really *fight fight*, ” I said, realizing immediately that they probably wouldn ’ t understand the expression, “ we just compete. Like, passive aggressive and stuff, to get to the top of the company. ” 
 
 Another student, who resembled a Chihuahua on two legs, dressed in a fine three-piece suit, chimed in from the side of the audience “ So you spend a third of every day fighting each other… in your own self-appointed groups, to become leader of these groups? ” At this point, I could tell they were starting to think of me more as a barbaric animal than a colleague. 
 
 “ Not leader. Sometimes we can become middle-managers. It usually comes with a raise of like a dollar or two an hour. ” I could see the disappointment sweep across whatever members of the audience weren ’ t already ashamed of me. Some walked away, heads hung in disappointment; others continued to stay and listen, but murmured amongst each other, the sound of disgust very obvious in their voices. 
 
 “ But I guess it ’ s not that bad though, since humans stay awake 24 hours a day and live up to 500 years, right? ” the squirrel girl asked. I think she was trying to toss me a bone, giving me a chance to redeem myself, but I had to admit the sad, pathetic truth. 
 
 “ No. Actually 80-90 is a pretty good age for us, and those who stay up more than 16 hours a day tend to have serious health concerns. Like, drug addicts or workaholics. ” 
 
 The squirrel girl walked up to me, and hugged my leg. “ I ’ m so sorry for you. ” She said, her wide eyes now glimmering with tears. `` You must be living in a very impoverished culture. We will take care of you here. ” 
 
 I wanted to tell her that I was actually one of the fortunate ones. To tell her I was born in the greatest country on Earth... but I realized that would only hurt my case. 
 
 I was chosen among a handful of students from Earth to attend the most well-established inter-galactic academy in the universe. Back at home, universities competed for me. I was offered internships in fields I hadn ’ t even applied for. Out here though, I ’ m learning that I ’ m really just a dancing, yapping fool who hasn ’ t developed what seems to be a universal sense of purpose. 
 
 In my first class, the rest of the students quickly ran together in groups and started tinkering together little inventions, or huddling around microscopes to study each other ’ s microbes. I, however, sat at my desk and waited patiently for a teacher to show up and hand us some busy work to do. 
 
 After a few minutes of sitting there awkwardly, one of my classmates came up to me and invited me to join her group. They were all sitting together, writing poetry and sharing their own cultures. When they asked me to present, I read aloud my favorite Robert Frost poem—a sad one about a boy who dies in a work-related accident, and how society essentially ignores his loss and continues working. They stared at me in shock. I tried to explain them the context—that the country I came from values hard work, and productivity, and that this was a critique on the loss of human empathy in that environment. 
 
 When I finished my explanation, a fist-sized little ball of white fur sitting across from me started crying, and then a handful of others joined in. Another group ran over immediately, hugging and comforting them and asking them what was wrong. They shared my poem and soon the entire class was pouring tears. Ever since, it seems the entire school has been gathering around me every break, trying to learn more about humans. 
 
 But, day by day, as if by systematic elimination, I have alienated all of those who were interested in me. 
 
 Even though they all seem so interested in me at first, it ’ s starting to feel like I ’ m really all alone out here. Every word that comes out of my mouth seems to drive somebody else away. *I do n't need to be friends with everyone, * I convinced myself. But the truth is, I was n't making friends with anyone. 
 
 *It ’ s really not my fault*, I tried to console myself. It ’ s because all the other humans are so sucky. Every story I try I have is about ways that everyone else has screwed up their lives, or about how we've engineered ourselves to unproductive and lazy. But I've never really felt like I contributed to that collective failure. I was an exception who got sucked into that catastrophe. 
 
 But then I realized that was pretty much the exact mindset that makes us so unlikable to the rest of the universe... 
 
 Every other species seems to be so content, so fulfilled with their short lives, and yet we spend our long, rich existence burying ourselves in media and blaming each other for the way our world never changes. 

