But I don't wanna go back to high school

So I'm having a great first week or so down here. Everything's going great. Lots of work but comparatively it's a cake walk. Then classes started on Tuesday, and somehow I managed to put all three of my classes in the same room. I don't even think you can do that shit if you try. So basically every other day I'm stuck in a large room with no clock and no cell phones allowed for 4 and a half hours listening to three different people drone on about economics, economics, and economics.

So in the middle of this hell-block my second professor cheerily announces that the average in his class is a 65. So, basically... fuck that guy. He asked how would he know that he challenged us if we did well. Hey, how about the people who listened get A's and the people who didn't get F's and you don't just make shit up on your exams for the fuck of it. How about that? How about average is a C like in every other educational institution in the US and you stop being a pompous douche bag. That's just an idea I had. Then in the last economics class in that room I sat behind a giraffe-necked fucker so I never actually saw the professor, which was extra awesome since she was speaking with a Romanian accent and God forbid I try to read her lips to make out the consonants.

So just as I think that my classes will all be at least semi-challenging/interesting, I show up to my 8am MWF class and within the first 30 seconds I knew I was boned. I can handle a difficult professor this year. I'm ready for that. I wasn't ready for my sociology professor pairing us off so we could introduce each other to the class, though. Yeah that's right. Matthew O. is 19, he lives in East Ellis, he needs a job, and his favorite color is who gives a flying fuck about Matthew O. Back when I was a young pup, I'd have been ecstatic to waste 30 minutes of my class time not learning something so Jenny could tell us that Susy likes to play the guitar but she just can't play the G chord. Now that I know my options are a).learn a lot and and pay a lot for the privilege to do so or b).go back to living in the fucking ghetto and getting shot at, I say, "Fuck you, Susy, and fuck you, Jenny. Sit down and shut the fuck up and let that pathetic excuse for a boyscout camp counselor teach us something about sociology."

You'd think that maybe after wasting all that time we'd actually do something right? Correct, the answer was no. Good call, you're catching on. No, instead he asked everyone to stand up, then he said, "On the count of 3 we're all going to yell as loud as we can. "
...
Oh you've gotta be fucking kidding me. Can you give me the hall pass so I can go out and bang my head on my locker? And now I'm thinking, okay, we're all adults; the only place you're going to convince a room full of adults to scream in unison is at a Tony Robbins seminar. But, sure enough, on the count of 3 they busted the fuck out of my ear drums, which conveniently made it difficult to understand the final 10 minutes of class he actually taught. I was aaaaalmost concerned that my semester would go well. For the sake of this blog, lucky me.