10:03 a.m. - 2005-02-23
Excitement wrapped up in a problem
A night at my Math class.
Finding a parking spot at a big ass campus is like finding a virgin in California. My frustration at having to attend this jackhole of a class is immediately heightened when I have to fight some 19 year old asswipe for a parking spot. He probably slept all day and took a 6pm math class because you know, “what the hell”!
Walking to class consists of the following random thoughts:
‘I fucking hate this class. Wow. Look how big that chick is. Her one thigh is actually bigger than my entire waist. I’m not sure what that says about her…or me. I fucking hate this class. Dude! Watch the fuck out. Jeez. He was totally gonna just run me over. Helllooooo?!! I’m in the crosswalk fucker. Shit. I fucking hate this class. Is that my teacher in front of me? Oh crap. He walks soooo slow. Not that I’m in a rush to get to class, but shit. I can’t just whiz by him. Like I’m rushing. But now I have to lag here behind him. Fuck. I fucking hate this fucking class.
Once in class, I notice the freaks around me. The “too hip to be square” behind me starts singing “Psst ahhh psst push it. Push it real good”. You know, trying to bring the funny and all. I snort out loud cause he wasn’t even born when that song came out. Then I frown to realize I was. Not only born, but going on 13.
I fucking hate this class.
Some girl walks in who looks like a bad JayLo knock off. She is actually wearing a great pair of high heels with rolled up sweats. She sits a few seats in front of me and as the class goes silent for the teacher, I am caught verbalizing my thoughts of “Fuck…really?” towards her outfit.
I don’t think we’ll end up friends.
Not with bad fashion sense like that.
We go through the routine of all the possible ways to graph a solution, I spend some more time thinking how ridiculously wasteful this is and how much I (say it together) hate this fucking class. My teacher, who by the way is FUCKING RUSSIAN, slurs his way through what he finds as a lesson and then gives us some practice problems. Through a series of small miracles, I not only finish my shit, but I finish first. I go up, give it too him and he marks it all wrong. He shakes his head in the universal sign of disbelief and then notices that I got the super-duper multimillion dollar bonus problem right.
Him: “Melissa, how is this? How you get the hard one right, but miss all easy ones?”
Me: “I guess I just expend energy on the important shit”.
Him: ………….Okay. I’ll mark you down as completed for this class. Do you have a last name?
(A few students giggle at the question)
Me: Yes.
Exit room.
Let him figure out his own bad English. I have to figure out his bullshit two times a week…
All the way to the car I am relieved that another waste of an evening is over and I can go home. To watch TV.
Brilliant.
