Good Grief

Well, there's nothing quite like bar exam prep to take your mind off you life.

First off, I need to fitch about obnoxious, unprofessional bar-bri classmates. The Roomie and I have been experience various species of this wonder in our two different classes. I'd like to adequately deal with each one so I may shelve them and their bad behavior. Oh, and it should be noted the seats in my classroom are pair uncomfortably close together, and they swing toward one another, making awkward knee-knocks inevitable and magifying obnoxious behavior.

CHERRY GIRL: No, she doesn't wear teenage age-appropriate yet wildly content-inappropriate clothing adorned with cherries, but that would be obnoxious. I hate those clothes. No, this girl believes the cherry pit longs for cleanliness, and every morning it is her calling to serve 15-20 cherries by sucking and slurping every last morself of cherry flesh from each desperate pit. Cherries... six inches away.

MR. ROGERS: This guy comes in, and despite the fact that you are the one and only person sitting in the row of 18 seats, he just really, really wants to be your neighbor. He snuggles up next to you, and he breaks out a notebook AND a laptop... and an entire package of chips ahoy.

THE TARDY TEXTER : This frat boy of old arrives 10 minutes late, spends the entire class on his handheld device, returns 5 minutes late from each break, and then spends the entire time he's actually in class leaning over to scope out your fill-in-the-blank answers that he missed because he's too busy to be bothered to listen to the video lecture. Not amused.

THE LIPPY SNIFFLER: Oh, this girl really got under my skin. Imagine listening to a rather important lecture, for which you've paid hundreds of dollars on top of the $3 in the parking meter and the $1.80 coffee to help you focus, and your neighbor's highlighter runs dry. Instead of cutting her losses and (gasp!) underlining, circling, or finding another suitable alternative, she insists she's going to squeeze every last drop of day-glo pink out of that sad little stick. While the conservationist in me values using our resources thoroughly prior to discard, her efforts to highlight with a dead as a doornail highlighter results in nothing short of screeching. WREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAACHHH. After shooting her a few stern, annoyed glances, she thankfully put down the weapon of torture.

On the breaks, Lippy attempts to explain away the screeching, unapologetically informing Roomie and me that her highlighter was almost out. No, Honey. It was out, and it didn't appreciate your forceful extraction anymore than we did.

We smiled, and turned to one another to talk about other things... things that would allow our taxed minds to relax for a precious 10 minutes (8 or so at this point, but who's counting?). I mention that I received a notice from Banana Repubic that a dress I've been flirting with for a month has finally gone on sale. Lippy, the eavesdropping pen wizard, interjects her theories on shopping and the bar. She excitedly interrupts our conversation with a "Oh, 'Vicky's' big sale started today!!" (*groan*.. "vicky's"??) She follows her interjection with a full analysis of how we're obviously too busy to shop, and she wears "fat pants" to class anyway, so there's really no point...blah blah blah. Roomie and I politely wait for her interjection to end, but it doesn't seem to know how. She actually finds a way to blabber for awhile about the point she never intends to fully make. Finally, she seems to have tired, and she doesn't seem to notice we haven't responded. The 10 minute break has ended, and she and her fat pants turn back toward the screen, armed with the dead highlighter.

Thinking it can't get worse, and too numb from the bar prep endeavor to really care, I gaze back toward the screen, ready to cram. Five minutes into the segment... "SNNNNNNNIIFFFFFFFF!!" (I know that's not really onomotapoeia, but go with me). Lippy has a stuffy nose. Her sniffles are not worthy of the cuteness of the word "sniffle"... no... she is wretching air through her crowded nostrils with the might she once reserved for highlighter torture. Now, I consider myself to be a fairly tolerant person, and had her breathing...challenges... been infrequent, I could easily have let them slide. No.. Lippy, hell-bent on depriving me of my very expensive learning experience, vehemently sucks air in 10-15 second intervals, making it impossible to regain focus. After a few excruciating minutes and some poignant head swivels punctuated by a glare right at Lippy's sniffly face, I am unwilling to deal. I lean in, and in a sweet, familiar tone I would use with someone who openly shared tales of bra-shopping and fat pants moments before, I whisper,"Hon, that's pretty loud. I'm having a hard time hearing over your sniffles." Lippy stares angrily back, and defiantly inhales. Unmoved, I lean back in and sweetly say,"Seriously, you really should go blow your nose."

It was an epic battle, but Lippy conceded defeat. She stood up wildly and stormed out (bumping Roomie on the back of the head on her way to clear her airways... jerk.). I sit back, smile, and take in the rest of the lesson.
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Ok, so that was way longer than I expected.. but boy did it feel good to let that out!