You recently graduated from a small Eastern college and have returned home to a suburb of Los Angeles. When your parents deliver accolades and neighborhood friends ask about your future plans those who evade to congratulate you, you feel visibly uncomfortable and didn’t want to be any part of it. You go in your room to cool down a bit. It’s all quiet until you hear claps from somebody’s heels over your door. The door opens revealing an elegant older woman by the name of Mrs. Robinson carrying a purse and a drink. “Oh,” She said. “I guess this isn’t the bathroom is it?”