A few observations about today:
- No kidding, my scientific calculator is as almost as old as some of the kids in the class. I remember buying it when I was probably a sophomore in high school. That's 1988 folks. I'll be sure to never repeat that to anybody in the class.
- It's a great idea to march right into the Public Safety building and introduce yourself to the largest guy in there. In this case, it's Officer Gresham. He seems to be a pretty nice guy. I gave him a photo of myself with my name, ID number, class schedule, and a short list of the routes that I'd be taking from my car to class. I was careful to point out that, if tackling was necessary, I prefer to be blindly tackled from the left side.
No matter where you are, there will always be that one guy.
Today, I met him. There are four "Studdies" in the class. Two of us are in the program; the other two are taking the course over the summer to gauge whether they'd like to join the program. Anywho, during a course break all the guys inevitably end up in the restroom at the same time.
This one guy is Chatty Cathy and won't shut up. He's a barrel-chested good ol' boy who's been working as an EMT and had been overseas doing some type of vaguely described work for the military. The guy seems nice enough but very intense and high-strung. He's the person who always is yelling out answers to all the instructor's questions -- even the rhetorical ones. He lacks an inside voice, you know? Anyway, my nemesis and I are standing there making small talk with this guy as our break was ending.
I was tiring of hearing him describe himself as an adrenaline junkie who works best if there are explosions going off around him. I open the door to the classroom just as this guy says, "I tell you what, there are some HOTTIES in there!" Even if you're thinking it, which I'm not convinced is safe thing to do on campus, why the hell would you yell it right into the classroom? He might feel like a fox in a henhouse but, in my opinion, it's a little more like being A GUY AT A PRIVATE WOMEN'S COLLEGE. We're accidental tourists. Every day can be either a gift or a curse. Personally, I don't think he's on the gift track.
Anyway, I couldn't get to my seat fast enough to get the hell away from that dude. I prayed that nobody heard him. To make sure that nobody confused his voice with mine, I made sure to loudly answer one of the instructor's questions. In retrospect, I think I answered it in deep-voiced British accent. Even my nemesis answered a question or two. Each time we spoke it was deliberate, loud, and easily distinguishable from TG ("that guy"). So, it looks like I'm going to be British for the rest of the semester. I can't have Officer Gresham escorting me all over campus.
Today, I met him. There are four "Studdies" in the class. Two of us are in the program; the other two are taking the course over the summer to gauge whether they'd like to join the program. Anywho, during a course break all the guys inevitably end up in the restroom at the same time.
This one guy is Chatty Cathy and won't shut up. He's a barrel-chested good ol' boy who's been working as an EMT and had been overseas doing some type of vaguely described work for the military. The guy seems nice enough but very intense and high-strung. He's the person who always is yelling out answers to all the instructor's questions -- even the rhetorical ones. He lacks an inside voice, you know? Anyway, my nemesis and I are standing there making small talk with this guy as our break was ending.
I was tiring of hearing him describe himself as an adrenaline junkie who works best if there are explosions going off around him. I open the door to the classroom just as this guy says, "I tell you what, there are some HOTTIES in there!" Even if you're thinking it, which I'm not convinced is safe thing to do on campus, why the hell would you yell it right into the classroom? He might feel like a fox in a henhouse but, in my opinion, it's a little more like being A GUY AT A PRIVATE WOMEN'S COLLEGE. We're accidental tourists. Every day can be either a gift or a curse. Personally, I don't think he's on the gift track.
Anyway, I couldn't get to my seat fast enough to get the hell away from that dude. I prayed that nobody heard him. To make sure that nobody confused his voice with mine, I made sure to loudly answer one of the instructor's questions. In retrospect, I think I answered it in deep-voiced British accent. Even my nemesis answered a question or two. Each time we spoke it was deliberate, loud, and easily distinguishable from TG ("that guy"). So, it looks like I'm going to be British for the rest of the semester. I can't have Officer Gresham escorting me all over campus.
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