But I'm too nice to bash him with a desk, of course.
I believe that, in my Stats class, I have encountered my very firstest true douchewicket. Mostly, I just see people doing something douchewickety; a momentary lapse in judgment and the like. But this... person... has proved time and time again that his brain is composed of a wicket and a douche.
Let me call him Nerp. We started talking in the first class because, well, it was the first class and I was in a talkative move. The first thing he says to me is something along the lines of keeping my pelvic floor muscles in shape. This should have tipped me off. As should the NECKBEARD OH GOD THE NECKBEARD. And the saying he could bench 300.
And shortly before the class begins, he walks over to another girl and begins talking to her. I'm like, sure, she's a friend, or something. Who knows. He comes back and I ask him whether he's hitting on girls for shits and giggles and he says he thought she was Libyan. I asked how so. He said because her skin's light. Motherfucker, I went to high school with an Azerbaijani guy, white as bone china. I informed him of his fallacy. He brushed me off.
Class ends without a further word. I... calmly scoot away before he can follow me. As I get on my bike and speed off, I hear a rather Nerpish primal scream of frustration. And accelerate. He's short and dimwitted, but I really didn't feel like kicking faces.
Second class. We meet at the train station on the way home, through no intention of mine. He makes a comment about how no decent girl should be out at that hour. I inform him of my being a resident of the city. Then he makes a comment about my new haircut. One of those comments. The most stupid comment you could imagine, with the inflection of perverse hope for the affirmative. I inform him that I am (mostly) straight and goddamn taken.
Then he says this: "Ah, well, that's a shame. You will never experience the joy of [Nerp]."
Temptation builds to say, "No, my joy is that I have a gorgeous, six-foot, gentlemanly yet ass-hauling might-as-well-be-my-fiance, and that I would never have to even consider a smelly, dense little crapsocket like you. Oh, look, here's the train. I hear you get there faster if you jump in front." But I settled for my very evillest stinkeye.
I walk quickly off the train after deliberately sitting at the opposite end from him. And hear another primal scream.
And go home and not think a second longer about it.
Now, he has to console himself by staring at me in class. Constantly. Creepily. As though he thinks I will return his advances or stop coming. Fuck you, sir, I will not sacrifice my degree for the privilege of not being drooled over by a greasy little Nerp.
My very first stalker, too. Loverly.
Let me call him Nerp. We started talking in the first class because, well, it was the first class and I was in a talkative move. The first thing he says to me is something along the lines of keeping my pelvic floor muscles in shape. This should have tipped me off. As should the NECKBEARD OH GOD THE NECKBEARD. And the saying he could bench 300.
And shortly before the class begins, he walks over to another girl and begins talking to her. I'm like, sure, she's a friend, or something. Who knows. He comes back and I ask him whether he's hitting on girls for shits and giggles and he says he thought she was Libyan. I asked how so. He said because her skin's light. Motherfucker, I went to high school with an Azerbaijani guy, white as bone china. I informed him of his fallacy. He brushed me off.
Class ends without a further word. I... calmly scoot away before he can follow me. As I get on my bike and speed off, I hear a rather Nerpish primal scream of frustration. And accelerate. He's short and dimwitted, but I really didn't feel like kicking faces.
Second class. We meet at the train station on the way home, through no intention of mine. He makes a comment about how no decent girl should be out at that hour. I inform him of my being a resident of the city. Then he makes a comment about my new haircut. One of those comments. The most stupid comment you could imagine, with the inflection of perverse hope for the affirmative. I inform him that I am (mostly) straight and goddamn taken.
Then he says this: "Ah, well, that's a shame. You will never experience the joy of [Nerp]."
Temptation builds to say, "No, my joy is that I have a gorgeous, six-foot, gentlemanly yet ass-hauling might-as-well-be-my-fiance, and that I would never have to even consider a smelly, dense little crapsocket like you. Oh, look, here's the train. I hear you get there faster if you jump in front." But I settled for my very evillest stinkeye.
I walk quickly off the train after deliberately sitting at the opposite end from him. And hear another primal scream.
And go home and not think a second longer about it.
Now, he has to console himself by staring at me in class. Constantly. Creepily. As though he thinks I will return his advances or stop coming. Fuck you, sir, I will not sacrifice my degree for the privilege of not being drooled over by a greasy little Nerp.
My very first stalker, too. Loverly.