Reason Why I’m Single #129 – My Elective Class
As I sit in a hipster coffee shop that is practically offended by the fact that you’d even actually want to order coffee—so offended in fact that the baristas ask you what you want and then abruptly resume their conversation about the slow but apparently hilarious descent on an episode of Cosmos they watched last night (probably while drinking Brooklyn Lager) before you even finish ordering—I cant help but wonder why I continue to come here. Seriously, I don’t like any of these people, the coffee is “meh” most days and the people induce so much eye-rolling on my behalf that I’m a pair of Levi’s 501’s away from going completely blind, and then I remember, “Oh, right, I live in Austin, every fucking coffee shop looks like this.” It sort of reminds me of this terrible elective class that I foolishly elected to take this semester…like a fool.
If you should ever find yourself with the option of taking “The Idea of the Beautiful” at the University of Texas, run, no really, just fucking run and never look back. It is the perfect example of why classes with utterly vague names should list in a very detailed fashion what all the class entails, including the textbook list, which is in the case of this class is conveniently littered with of all the classic books that I somehow managed to get away with never having to read in high school as well as my first three years of undergrad. And to think, I almost got away with never having to read the Iliad. And you know what? I don’t feel anymore enlightened. God, instead I’m filled with resent that this class hoodwinked me into reading classic Greek epics.
In addition to the unapologetically dense reading material, it’s like all of the most annoying people in my classes over the years got together and decided to truly piss me off by signing up for this class. Sure, I don’t really know any of these people (or even recognize them for that matter) but you have to understand how incredibly frustrating it is to be in a class where every student starts their comments (which are unwarranted by the way…well unwarranted by me, not so much the professor…) with “I just feel like.” God, I am so over your feelings! These students feel more in one hour-and-15-minute class than I’ve felt all year.
The girl next to me is particularly frustrating. Her hand shoots up like a fucking beanstalk. You know the kind? It’s like the kind of hand-raising where they raise their whole body like if they somehow make themselves appear taller they’ll magically appear smarter or something, like even her finger nails straighten out too. Strike one.
Strike two? She writes in a Moleskin instead of the standard issue 120-page Mead notebook like the rest of us, giving off the air that she signed up for this class with the intention of coming up with revelations in this class. Like she’s so confident that she will be making life-changing insight that it all needs to be chronicled in a leather bound freaking book!
The worst part? She’s actually sort of insightful in that really annoying way that makes me way want to “accidentally” spill my coffee all over her moleskin. I know. I’m a terrible person. I’m aware of this. The other day in class I had to get up and switch seats in the midst of one her revelations that of course my elbow-patched professor gobbles right up because she was literally making me look like a dumbass as I stared at her blankly partially confused by where the hell she gets these professor-approved insights but also sort of wondering what the fuck she’s saying. She’s big on the hand motions, which in case you were wondering, still don’t help me to understand what she’s saying but somehow has the rest of the class nodding their head along.
Clearly, I didn’t sign up for what everyone else in this class signed up for.