A scene from the life of a 15 year old college student
She bit her lip and tapped her workbook with the end of her pencil irritatedly, thinking. How do you enter in log to the base 10 again? Yes, it had been far too long since she had taken any sort of math class.
She glanced warily at the boy sitting across the hall from her. Of course, boy was a general term, as he was nearly twice her age. He had been looking far too long in her general direction, but immediately lowered his head and began popping peanuts into his mouth in quick succession when she looked up. Dare she ask him for help? She did not want another encounter in which her personal space was invaded.
Oh well. "How do you enter in log to the base 10 on a calculator?"
The "boy"'s head whipped up and said intelligently, "Huh?"
She repeated the question.
"OH! It's simple, you press the log button."
"Oh okay thanks, I - "
He got up and said, "Here, I can show you!" He crossed the linoleum hallway, seemingly ignoring the fact that she did in fact know where the log button was, as it was her calculator.
He sat down. He smelled unpleasantly of stale peanuts. And he was sitting in the invisible personal space bubble, which was a foot on each side, but in the case of "boys", was two feet at least. Two bloody inches, she thought.
"Now," he said importantly. "Where is your log button?"
"Er.. there." She pointed.
"Oh right. Well, just enter in the number.." He reached into the workbook on her lap, significantly brushing up against her arms, and jabbed it. "And press log!" He finished this rather short speech with a flourish.
She fleetingly and madly wondered if she should be applauding. "Oh right, thanks.. I can do it from here."
He stood up. "Yeah, these calculators.. they're a bit tricky, you know.. Ha ha ha ha!"
She looked at him. "Er, yeah. Right." And proceeded to finish her table of Vapor Pressures and Inverse Temperatures, ignoring the "boy", who was still standing there, swinging his arms in a faintly baboon like manner.
She decided not to wear tank tops to school anymore. Just as a precaution.
She glanced warily at the boy sitting across the hall from her. Of course, boy was a general term, as he was nearly twice her age. He had been looking far too long in her general direction, but immediately lowered his head and began popping peanuts into his mouth in quick succession when she looked up. Dare she ask him for help? She did not want another encounter in which her personal space was invaded.
Oh well. "How do you enter in log to the base 10 on a calculator?"
The "boy"'s head whipped up and said intelligently, "Huh?"
She repeated the question.
"OH! It's simple, you press the log button."
"Oh okay thanks, I - "
He got up and said, "Here, I can show you!" He crossed the linoleum hallway, seemingly ignoring the fact that she did in fact know where the log button was, as it was her calculator.
He sat down. He smelled unpleasantly of stale peanuts. And he was sitting in the invisible personal space bubble, which was a foot on each side, but in the case of "boys", was two feet at least. Two bloody inches, she thought.
"Now," he said importantly. "Where is your log button?"
"Er.. there." She pointed.
"Oh right. Well, just enter in the number.." He reached into the workbook on her lap, significantly brushing up against her arms, and jabbed it. "And press log!" He finished this rather short speech with a flourish.
She fleetingly and madly wondered if she should be applauding. "Oh right, thanks.. I can do it from here."
He stood up. "Yeah, these calculators.. they're a bit tricky, you know.. Ha ha ha ha!"
She looked at him. "Er, yeah. Right." And proceeded to finish her table of Vapor Pressures and Inverse Temperatures, ignoring the "boy", who was still standing there, swinging his arms in a faintly baboon like manner.
She decided not to wear tank tops to school anymore. Just as a precaution.