Stab My Eye Out
I perfected this technique in college wherein I would apply pressure with the end of my pen to the inner corner of my eye. It would alleviate the tedium of class by reminding me that stabbing my eye out would be more painful than the boring class I was currently sitting through.
This technique has served me well beyond college. In grad school when I had to sit through boring lectures in Primate Physiology, my pen was often in my eye. Once I joined the work force, my pen could be seen in my eye during excruciatingly long meetings.
Last night, I took my pen out of my eye, uncapped it and went on a killing spree in my Introduction to Screenwriting II class at UCLA. The first victim was the frat boy seated in the row in front of me who thought he was a comic genius and had something to say about everything. I left my blue Paper Mate fine point sticking out of the side of his neck and vaulted over the table to get to the instructor. I snatched her purple Pentel off of the table and knocked her to the floor.
"This is for the two hours you stole from me!" Stab. "This is for making me listen to the history of your name: Elizabeth to Lizzie to Liz to Lizbeth to Lisa and back to Lizzie, but we can still call you Elizabeth if we want." Stab. "This is for making me introduce myself to the rest of the class by telling them my birth order and my astrological sign." Stab. "This is for dragging out the introductions of ten people for 90 minutes by asking ridiculous, tangential questions." Stab. Stab. Stab.
My classmates stealthily hid their pens, not wanting to make any sudden moves that would draw my attention. There was no need; I was done. The pain relieved.
This morning, I switched to the online version of Introduction to Screenwriting II.
This technique has served me well beyond college. In grad school when I had to sit through boring lectures in Primate Physiology, my pen was often in my eye. Once I joined the work force, my pen could be seen in my eye during excruciatingly long meetings.
Last night, I took my pen out of my eye, uncapped it and went on a killing spree in my Introduction to Screenwriting II class at UCLA. The first victim was the frat boy seated in the row in front of me who thought he was a comic genius and had something to say about everything. I left my blue Paper Mate fine point sticking out of the side of his neck and vaulted over the table to get to the instructor. I snatched her purple Pentel off of the table and knocked her to the floor.
"This is for the two hours you stole from me!" Stab. "This is for making me listen to the history of your name: Elizabeth to Lizzie to Liz to Lizbeth to Lisa and back to Lizzie, but we can still call you Elizabeth if we want." Stab. "This is for making me introduce myself to the rest of the class by telling them my birth order and my astrological sign." Stab. "This is for dragging out the introductions of ten people for 90 minutes by asking ridiculous, tangential questions." Stab. Stab. Stab.
My classmates stealthily hid their pens, not wanting to make any sudden moves that would draw my attention. There was no need; I was done. The pain relieved.
This morning, I switched to the online version of Introduction to Screenwriting II.
1 Comments:
I am so so sorry for my previous comments to your blogs, they were really for someone else, I made a mistake, its all my fault really, don't worry I'll just quietly back out of this blog and move to another country - O right I am in another country - yah boo sucks!
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