Raise Your Hand, Asshole

January 26th, 2007.

As I gain more time to do what I like, I find it increasingly hard to find ways to entertain myself. When I only had an hour or two a day to relax, I could always catch a movie or have a few drinks. Now that I have no need for work and my entire day is usually my own, the hours stretch out before me, endless and unscheduled. If I don’t fill them up, my brains may just be in danger of atrophying.

So, I take classes.

It doesn’t matter what the class is for. I would take a plumbing class before I’d resort to television as my main source of entertainment.

Currently, I’m in the middle of a ‘Personal Finance and Retirement Savings’ class. I am one of three students. Apparently, a few more people signed up, but most of the class was a no show. I find this unnerving.

I mean, I can take a class on ‘Creative Knitting’ and the room will be filled to the brim with excited, kvetching woman eager to indulge in the wonders of yarn. But a class about money management is almost completely empty.

I predict that most of the people from my generation will die in filthy nursing homes who employ ex cons that periodically flip them over while simultaneously conspiring to steal their gold teeth.

But, back to my class.

One of the other students in my class is a really old man who never stops talking. Not only does he constantly interrupt the teacher, but he rarely sticks to the topic after doing so. For example, she’ll be discussing the various interest rates available when buying bonds, and he’ll interrupt her to babble on about the reasons people his age move to Florida.

On one hand, I feel sorry for the guy. He’s obviously starved for attention and I wonder if this class is the only time he gets to converse with other adults.

However, I did take this class because I was interested in the subject. Not because I wanted to listen to this guy prattle on about his grandchildren. Sometimes when I’m particularly frustrated, I will think to myself:

SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP IF YOU DON’T SHUT UP I WILL FUCKING KILL YOU AND BURY YOU IN MY BACKYARD YOU FUCKING FOSSIL

Then I think to myself, ‘Aww V, you’re just being mean. If you came to class next week and this guy was really dead, you’d feel really bad.’

But the truth is…I wouldn’t.

Similar Articles


Comments are closed.