and entering

You’ve Got to Be Kidding Me

I bet you don’t even know which one I am, you insensitive piece of shit.

I thought I was safe when it had been about 30 minutes since the start of class and no one had sat on me yet. Finally, I was going to get a brief respite from my eternal torment of being an official Harvard University ass-cushion. Then I saw you, you cheeky little fucker. 

I know you think you’re so cool strolling into this 11:00 class at 11:33 with your messy hair, your backpack slung over one shoulder, and your lanyard hanging out of your pocket. Well I’ve got news for you, asshole. I like section kid better than you. He may be an annoying little putz, but at least he’s punctual.

I knew from the moment you walked in the room that you were trouble. I saw you slow your leisurely gait as you scanned the room, looking for the perfect place to plop down and browse Facebook and Tinder. I held out just a tiny sliver of hope that you’d pick K-305 and give that lazy son of a bitch something to really complain about. But you couldn’t even grant me that small pleasure, could you? Instead, you focused your pretentious gaze on me and began to saunter in my direction with the grace and poise of a drunken albatross.

I remember all the way back to 1972 when I first found out I would be spending the rest of my existence in this godforsaken hellhole of a lecture hall. I was young and naïve, and I was excited to contribute to the education of the best and brightest. Boy, did I get that one wrong. I have a hard fucking life, ok? I make Sisyphus look like a rich retiree sipping a piña colada on a Florida beach. And I’m tired of getting absolutely zero gratitude from you over-privileged shits. You wouldn’t believe the horrors I’ve seen. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve had shitbags spill something on me or almost blow out my springs from fucking so hard. Still, I don’t have it as bad as the basement toilets. They deal with a lot of shit, trust me.

Alas, you’ve won for now. I only have to put up with you for another hour, so I guess I’ll just suffer through it. But I swear if you start with that goddamn nervous leg bounce, I’m gonna screech so loud it’ll make the gates of Hell sound like the fucking King’s College Choir.

© 2017