The putrid stench of Twenty-Seven


I have been taking online classes for a while now. With a full-time job, it is harder to motivate myself to go to class when I have just spent nine hours listening to people bitch. Sue me. I like the freedom to come home, pour myself some wine, and THEN do my homework.

This semester, however, since I only have TWO classes left until I graduate and they are both Math classes and I am so utterly terrible at Math, I decided that I would take a daytime class. You know, the kind that actually requires you to show up...and there is an instructor and other students...and you actually have to see them...Yeah. That kind. So, I show up today, not at all eager to learn and feeling somewhat chubby, sit down in the back of the classroom ten minutes early, only to have the instructor immediately call me out.

"Don't you want to sit in the front?"

"Not at all."

"Well, that's how I grade...The front row gets an A."

I smiled but stayed right where I was. No grade was worth being in the direct line of sight of the instructor at all times. Seriously. I suck at Math, the last thing I need is to be called out on the regular. At the very least, I can hide out behind the huge redneck in front of me and pretend that I don't exist if I am in the back. Duh.

The more I looked around, the more I thought that taking an afternoon class might have been a serious mistake on my part. Everyone in the class was prepubescent. EVERYONE. Not a single person was wearing clothes that indicated that they had a job and half of them were talking about what happened to Ashley and her boyfriend and why they broke up over the Summer. (Turns out, her boyfriend cheated on her on the night of their graduation and when Ashley found out, OH. MY. GOD.) I wanted to kill myself. In fact, I still want to kill myself.

I hate high school kids. I didn't hang out with them when I was there, why the hell did I surround myself with them NOW? At twenty-fucking-seven?

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