Tuesday, January 29, 2008

Like Moths to a Flame

Today I started my first non-online class since Christmas. Its gotten smaller since last time as this is part two of a three part series. There are five students besides myself. The cool thing about that is that we can all stretch out. Each row has three computers at them and there are two sides and four to a side... so 8 rows. Five students. Yep, we each get to have our own space to stretch out our books and maybe put a purse on the chair next to us, etc. Everyone but me. Why? Because crazy hippy woman decides that space is for suckers and sits right next to me.
I was already on the middle computer, so she could have just snuck in and took the coputer to my left, but that wouldn't do. She had to suck and squeeze her way past me and sit to the computer at my right. Maximum touching invloved in this transaction, of course.
As I'm thinking to myself, "I must smell particularly lovely this afternoon" she proceeds to make herself comfortable... in my S--P--A--C--E and flips open her text book, which conveniently covers my mouse. Since I am a gutless turd, I didn't actually say anything, but spent the entire class using the mouse from underneath the cover of her text book, which didn't bother her in the least. It also didn't bother her that her breath smelled like she had been eating out of a dumpster. How in the world do I know what her breath smelled like you ask? Well, Watson, its because every instruction that the professor gave us caused her to lean her face toward mine and watch me write out all the code first.
Annnnd, for the cherry on top, she was NOT getting it. Anything. Everything. "Ooh, Alice, one of these days: bang! Zoom! Straight to the moon!" Every simple little action from opening a new file to coding table cell data was a virtual anomoly to this woman. Every move had to be hand traced for her by the teacher. I would really like to know why someone who can't grasp the concept of opening a file on a computer has decided to become a certified webmaster. That would be like me deciding to be a professional glass blower. It just doesn't make sense.
I'm not trying to knock her or fault her for trying, I'm faulting her for invading my S--P--A--C--E when the chair right next to the teacher (a spot that wouldn't involve me sucking in my spare big rig tire and scooting the chair in so the teacher could assist in her every move) was ready and waiting for an ass to call its own.

I've gone over and over in my head what could possibly make me the lucky one to share my very important elbow space, as I have ironically found myself in this situation more than once. (I am especially sensitive to personal space at the gym and feel that unless someone has announced the other treadmills have been doused with anthrax, you shouldn't be using the one right next to me for any reason.)

I'm not particularly fetching and I'm also not terribly strange looking. I don't think I would be an inviting option for someone looking on either end of the spectrum. I dress conservatively, I don't own bright colors, my makeup is natural tones, and my new Katie Holmes hairstyle isn't scoring me any extra points either. Nope, there is nothing there that would suggest that I should attract someone looking for a fellow Boo Radley, or a potential life partner.
Me: Wearing tan courderoy pants, brown flip flops, and a 3/4 sleeved boatneck t-shirt. My hair is worn half up in a barrett as it is too short for anything else.
Her: Wearing a floral dress with large pockets. Over a pair of grey trousers. Topped off with a purple cable-knit sweater and wild glasses. Her hair is down to her butt and wild.

I have never been told that I look like the kind of person you could just sit down and have a conversation with. Infact, my 6'3", 200lb husband found me intimidating when we first met. I'm not proud of it, but years of working retail has left me jaded and bitter and generally unimpressed with the evolution of the human species.
Me: Loner, rebel.
Her: Hippy, Close talker.

Lucky for me, I usually am perceived as smart... but the kind of smart person who will make you cry, not hold your hand and convince you that one day you'll be able to tie your shoes all by yourself.
Me: Can read at least an eighth grade level!
Her: May or may not see literacy as an important goal in life.

Aroma: I must have a fabulous musk.
Me: Wearing Dior's Addict II.
Her: Wearing the smell of victory over large rodents at feeding time.

I admit it, I feel bad about being SO cruel toward this lady... but did I mention that this class is FOUR HOURS long? And hey, its all entertainment folks. And its all for you.

1 comment:

Kelly said...

i feel your pain! last semester i was in a similarly desolate class, but without fail, no matter how many open tables were around me, this one guy, who reeked of cigarettes and b.o., would sit RIGHT next to me. and he always came in late, so i was always already there and seated. and he since he was always late, he always leaned in to ask me what was going on. gross, gross, gross.

Pay Attention: