He's an idiot.
Not the guy sitting across from me. Laptop open. Still wearing his pajamas. A bagel with three small containers of strawberry cream cheese (that'll stink), two bottles of orange juice (the Walmart brand, with his name written on them), a chocolate chip cookie still in its wrapper, and a banana almost dead with brown bruises all over it. What'd you do, throw it against the wall when she said no? Butterfinger all over his paper to-go coffee mug, the empty wrapper sitting on the floor in front of his desk. He can't reach it, of course, though he tries once---funny, halfhearted, he pretends it's not his---because some janitor wants to arrange the desks in a U-shape pattern. Maybe we blame the department chair who decides this is better to make us learn. I'm a freshman. What do I know? But, it's distracting already.
Anyway, I'm not paying over $28,000 a year to stare at this moron all semester long.
So, I move. Across the room, to a corner with an outlet. My laptop is crap. I'll need Facebook before the end.
No, Butterfinger isn't the idiot.
And, she isn't either: the woman, in her 50s-ish, with glasses and bag, and everything newly purchased for a day in non-traditional education. Three different shades of highlighter. Four different notebooks, one labeled Communication Fundamentals 103. In case she forgets the color.
And, she isn't either, the girl with perfect hair and brand new jeans. She's gorgeous. She's hot. I need to move again.
Now I can see her better, and I have an outlet.
No, she's not the idiot. I am.
I forgot my phone.
This mess to be continued...
