Fourth Class

Our scheduled speaker didn't show up. She was supposed to give us tips on researching for our stories. I'm actually glad she rescheduled, because I was fifteen minutes late. When I walked in, I saw that my regular seat was taken by the chirripy undergrad, so I sat in a chair further back. Immediately, I was assaulted on all sides by loud, heavy breathing. There were three of them all around me, and they tried their damndest to keep me from hearing the teacher. It was like a symphony of Hoovers, like sticking your head out of a speeding car and listening for a hummingbird.

Anyway, we spent the first two hours of class talking about our ideas for our final articles. The topics ranged from the French ambassador's upcoming visit to town to the decrepit condition of juvenile hall. All seemed interesting, but what was most interesting was the way people presented their ideas. Looking back, I should've been able to predict what they were going to say. Well...maybe not what their stories would be, but definitely how they'd present them.

Like the old, eager guy who kept going on and on...or the Boston-transplant who's cooler than I am and thus said very little, "Uh...I dunno. Skiing?" Mrs. I-Have-A-Kid-And-I'm-Also-A-Health-Nut prefaced her idea with five minutes of build up about how deep and meaningful it was. And Mrs. Horrible predictably has an annoying topic, but somehow it reflects well upon her and shows how awesome she is. What does this say, then, about me and my story on supernerds? They obviously thought I was a big nerd as well. I could see the triumphant gleam in their eyes as they snickered and asked snide little questions. They'll get theirs though. I'll write an article that's so great, it'll make them puke all over their crappy papers. And then I'll burn down the building.