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Oh, my god, you guys.

I am in a “Survey of Exceptional Learners” class right now (it’s basically “hai, look, here r sum disabilities!  write a paper!”), and…

There’s really no way I can be P.C. about what I’m about to say.

Some of the people who are taking this course (in the MAT program…it’s a combined course, I’m in the undergrad portion) obviously fell through the cracks when they were being tested for learning disabilities earlier in life.  Or they suffered some sort of head injury or rampant illicit drug use.

It’s like watching someone on American Idol who repeatedly says, “My mom says I sing really well,” then delivers a screeching performance that makes your teeth hurt and renders anyone within a 2-mile radius of the actual performance infertile.

A guy sitting next to me asked me, without preamble, if I was a special education teacher.  I said, “Nope – I’m a psych major.”

He looked so confused, I almost felt sorry for him.  I say “almost” because someone else had asked me a question earlier about my occupation that alluded to the fact that perhaps I shouldn’t have worn jeans, a tee shirt, and a plaid overshirt that day, even if the shirt was purple and brown and not really all that farmer-esque.  Apparently I just look like I’m used to animals and/or children spilling stuff all over me.

“I’m undergrad.  This is my last semester.  I’m taking this class to see if I’d want to complete the MAT program here, because it’ll transfer to graduate credits while also counting as an undergrad elective.”

He just continued to give me a blank look, so, figuring talking about credits was a lost cause, I asked him what he was studying.

“Oh, I don’t want to be a teacher.  I’m only taking this class because CBU’s paying for it.”  Apparently he works in the athletics department on campus.  I suspect he collects fly balls from the parking lot during softball practice.  (At this map link, please see “Bland Field” for reference – just to the South of it is a visitor’s lot and the Faculty/Staff lot.  Foul balls are common enough that there are “park at your own risk” signs in the visitor’s lot.)

When he asked me if I knew the professor, and thought we’d get any nights off from class (come ON, dude, it’s 8 classes!  grow a pair!), I said, “Well, we get off for the Monday after Easter, and the previous Monday is Passover, so I expect we won’t be here for that class, either.”

My bad for assuming he had any idea who our professor was.

“Wait…Passover is JEWISH.  This is a CATHOLIC school,” he said condescendingly.

“Yeah.  Our professor is Jewish.”

“But this is a CATHOLIC school.”  He started to giggle, like someone had said the word boobies, and we were on an episode of Jackass.

“Um, yeah, and she’s Jewish.  It’s CBU’s discretion to have hired her, and she happens to be head of the Education Department.  If she wants to let us have a night off because of her religious preference, I have no problem with that.”  At this point, I’d stopped looking at him, because it was becoming an effort to keep a straight, non-confrontational expression on my face.

“…but this is a CATHOLIC school!”  I think he thought I was lying to him, and that, like a stupid tourist in a non-English-speaking country, shouting would make me “get” what he was saying.

“I’m Agnostic.  I find it’s better to just shut up and not assume that everyone agrees with me all the time, especially when it comes to religious preference.”  I took out my textbook and my notepad and busied myself texting JB some stupid message like wow this class is really full so that the idiot next to me would shut up.

He bugged me a bit about whether I thought he needed to buy the book, copied down the title and edition (clearly, he’d never received a syllabus before in his life, or he doesn’t have the brain power to remember such an event), and babbled about something else while I ignored him and looked around for someone I knew who was close enough for me to say something so that I could shut this guy up.

It’s not that I’m really that much of a bitch.  It’s just that once you show yourself to be an ignorant piece of shit, and then assume that, despite my being clearly not okay with it, you can just keep talking to me about random shit, I reserve the privilege to ignore you and be as rude as possible to get you to shut the hell up and leave me alone.

I got this other guy’s attention and gave him hell for a bit (all in good fun – he and I get along because we have fun insulting each other and seeing who gets offended and stops first), and then the professor walked in.

One of the first things she did was pass out the syllabus and point out that, in addition to us getting the Monday following Easter off (which is a CBU thing, in case that wasn’t clear before), we would be getting the previous Monday off because it’s the first night of Passover.

The guy next to me said, “Yessssss,” in a whisper, and grinned at me conspiratorially.  I’m surprised he didn’t do a fist pump.

Someone must have jokingly suggested he take the class.  I can’t think of any other explanation.

2 comments to Oh, my god, you guys.