College. I'm sitting in a class room listening to some guy hitting on on a girl. I feel like a whore. I've just changed from liberal arts to business, so I can avoid taking a Spanish class. I'm in an economics class; my teacher, who isn't here yet, hates us. I can tell by the way he seems to throw up a little in his mouth each time one of us asks a question. And from the questions we ask, I don't blame him.
The guy actually leans his butt on the girl's desk. Smarmy. He picks up one of the books she has there, F. Scott Fitzgerald. He flips through the pages, nodding his head. "Reading the classics?" he asks her. It's the sort of voice that comes out of an infomercial at three A.M.; it's the sort of voice that makes parents stand outside a child's bedroom at night discussing the moral implications of going in there and trying to smothering their young.
"Yeah," he says, handing her back the book. "I've read all the classics."
This is when it snaps. I stand, eyes wild, and confront this stranger. "You've read all the classics? You've read ALL the classics???!!!!!! How was Joyce's 'Ulysseus'? A good read? Did you like 'Farewell to Arms?' I understand he wrote a sequel called 'Hello, the Feet'. Did you enjoy Sandburg's work on Lincoln? What about Pynchon? There's a fun fellow, eh?"
The whole class is staring at me.
"He's read all the classics."
Over my shoulder I call out. "What an ass."
I immediately head out to drop Economics and to return to my double majors of English Literature and History (yeah, I probably should have gone into Law instead, or maybe something more marketable like...anything).
I passed Spanish, by the way.