The inspiration for the entire classroom etiquette piece comes from the occurrences in a 55 minute span of a PR class. I have so much material for classroom etiquette that I can’t even present it on one long chunk—also, I don’t have it all completed yet. So here’s a teaser.
…There are certain unwritten rules, or norms, we should follow when attending class. When I started thinking of all these norms, I originally planned to write a 10 Commandments sort of deal. Well, as the particular class which inspired this writing went on, I realized that the 10 wouldn’t quite cut it—okay, I needed upwards of 47. So as I started noticing these little norm violations in my class, I began to write them down all over my notes in class. Incidentally, my professor noticed my vehement scribbling and complemented me with several looks that can only be classified as the stink-eye. However, this did not stop me. Actually, it gave me a little more fuel and fervor.
In my madness I broke down rules for each person sitting in my general area of annoyance. Let’s begin with the most relevant to my (in)sanity: The Bitch Behind.
First of all, let me just tell you that this girl was already sitting in my seat. Strike 1. As I’m approaching my seat, I decide to violently flop in the seat in front of this girl. Surely, from my performance she caught my drift, right? I get out my notebook and tune in relative to the frequency that my professor speaks on. I can follow along mostly with lecture until the girl behind me provides static. All of a sudden, my chair jerks wildly, although I’m the only one that seems to notice the shake. Apparently, I was the only one sitting on this fault line, as evident by all the stern glances I received upon my little yelp at this incident. Then it happened again. Okay, am I the only one on the Earthquake ride right now? What the hell? Hmm, it turns out it’s the bitch behind. She can’t seem to place her feet in the basket beneath my desk to suit her optimum comfort level; she let’s me know this for the remaining 51 minutes of class. Strike 2.
I don’t even try to steady myself on my launch pad to take notes. Instead, I try to not to vomit on the floor and tune back in to the lecture. The sound waves my professor’s jaw emits almost reaches my ears until the interference scrambles the signal again. Now, either I’ve discovered the only living Neanderthal and I’m rich, or the bitch behind me is unable to breathe through her nose. I know that it’s cold and flu season, so I guess I can excuse this. I almost feel sorry for her until the smacking ensues. Oh yeah, it’s her gum. Come on, lady. Gum or breathing. Not both. Strike 3. I’m out.
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