How To "Get The Girl" - Or Get Expelled Trying Saturday, April 14, 2007 |
This week, I got hit on.
Hold on, hear me out- this IS blog-worthy - wait and see.
This week, I got hit on, WHILE WRITING a final exam.
Before your imagination runs TOO wild, let me clarify several things:
1) I did NOT get hit on by a prof,
2) I did NOT get carried away by the sheer novelty of it all and start making out with some guy mid-paragraph, and
3) It is NOT AT ALL likely that any type of short-term, long-term, or any-term relationship will develop as a result of this quite unconventional "proposition"... (sorry folks, it's not THAT type of blog-worthy!)
Now, for what DID happen...
So, apparently, there's this guy.
This guy I've talked to like maybe 3 times this semester. Seems like a nice guy, and I know once we had a really good "get to know ya" conversation that might have lasted all of a minute and a half. Seriously, he seems like a great guy.
You know, the typical "not on my radar" type of guy, so pretty much the exact type of guy who usually asks me out.
Oh, you mean the kinda cute guy who sits on the other side of the room whom I sometimes smile at ever-so-charmingly?
Nope, not him.
Anyways, moving on, the date-ability or non-date-ability of the guy is not really the point.
So, on Tuesday, I file into my classroom, looking ridiculously grubby and unwashed with my 2-day old hairdo and my naked face (could have used a little doctoring that day, mostly due to my state of grubby unwashedness), holding about 18-million nearly-out-of-ink pens, wearing my comfy jeans and my oh-so-classy "I Love Nerds" T-shirt. However, somehow, despite the fact that I'm currently in the running for "Most Likely To Be Expelled For Sheer Ickiness", said T-shirt manages to evoke a compliment from my secret admirer (hereafter referred to only as "Gutsy"1, or "Gutsy needs glasses"2).
Other behaviors that I don't consider odd at the time but which make far more sense later include Gutsy (name changed to protect the innocent) eagerly encouraging me to sit in the desk next to him, which was weird, especially when it becomes apparent that my friend Andrew has already claimed said desk, upon which I slip easily into the desk behind Andrew's and jolt to attention as the exam is distributed.
Exam instructions are given, exam is undertaken, and all seem to be rolling along in a jolly manner until somewhere around the 2-hour point, when Gutsy completes his exam (keeners like me will be writing for another hour yet). Somewhere in my peripheral vision Gutsy, who is sitting 1 row over, 1 up, front and center to the prof, finishes his exam and hands it in; for some reason he bumbles about for awhile before slipping a note onto my desk on his way out the door.
I am jolted out of my intensely focused exam-writing state (I was in the zone, man!) by the flutter of paper hitting my desk. I look around in shock, first surveying the note's author, who simply smiles at me and walks out the door. My eyes immediately jump with panic to my prof, who is perched not 10 feet away and staring back in my direction, fully aware of my latest interchange. Thoughts race as I contemplate the consequences of being caught receiving a note during a university-level final exam. None of the scenarios running through my head sound very appealing. I search my prof's face, and read only the slightest knowing hint of a smile; apparently she shares my sneaking predilection that the note is of a more personal nature. I exhale. The panic begins to drain from my face as I finally turn my eyes and thoughts back to my exam.
I am taking no chances. I leave the note untouched and visible on my desktop until the exam's completion, despite the raised eyebrows and annoyingly knowing looks of my neighboring classmates. I hope and pray that my prof does not reconsider her benevolent oversight, and continue plugging away at my final.
Finally I make it through the exam, and after the usual goading of the prof that "time is up... last sentences please!" I finally complete the exam, gather my materials, and slip my mischief-causing love note into my pocket, blushing at my prof's irritatingly knowing smile, and slip out the door.
In the safety and seclusion of the hallway I examine the note further to behold the contact info of Gutsy himself (ladies, let me know if you're at all intrigued... I can pass it on!) I ditch out on the after-class pub rendezvous that Gutsy made a special point to emphasize to the class before his dramatic exit, and head home, with my head only slightly too big to fit through a single-frame doorway.
I guess that's what one can expect when writing final exams for the theatre department....
Drama, drama, drama.
1 I mean, the guy asked me out during a FINAL EXAM, what would you call him? [back]
2 Well, he did tell me I looked good that day; or he liked my shirt, or something like that; whatever- the kid needs glasses. [back]
Hold on, hear me out- this IS blog-worthy - wait and see.
This week, I got hit on, WHILE WRITING a final exam.
Before your imagination runs TOO wild, let me clarify several things:
1) I did NOT get hit on by a prof,
2) I did NOT get carried away by the sheer novelty of it all and start making out with some guy mid-paragraph, and
3) It is NOT AT ALL likely that any type of short-term, long-term, or any-term relationship will develop as a result of this quite unconventional "proposition"... (sorry folks, it's not THAT type of blog-worthy!)
Now, for what DID happen...
So, apparently, there's this guy.
This guy I've talked to like maybe 3 times this semester. Seems like a nice guy, and I know once we had a really good "get to know ya" conversation that might have lasted all of a minute and a half. Seriously, he seems like a great guy.
You know, the typical "not on my radar" type of guy, so pretty much the exact type of guy who usually asks me out.
Oh, you mean the kinda cute guy who sits on the other side of the room whom I sometimes smile at ever-so-charmingly?
Nope, not him.
Anyways, moving on, the date-ability or non-date-ability of the guy is not really the point.
So, on Tuesday, I file into my classroom, looking ridiculously grubby and unwashed with my 2-day old hairdo and my naked face (could have used a little doctoring that day, mostly due to my state of grubby unwashedness), holding about 18-million nearly-out-of-ink pens, wearing my comfy jeans and my oh-so-classy "I Love Nerds" T-shirt. However, somehow, despite the fact that I'm currently in the running for "Most Likely To Be Expelled For Sheer Ickiness", said T-shirt manages to evoke a compliment from my secret admirer (hereafter referred to only as "Gutsy"1, or "Gutsy needs glasses"2).
Other behaviors that I don't consider odd at the time but which make far more sense later include Gutsy (name changed to protect the innocent) eagerly encouraging me to sit in the desk next to him, which was weird, especially when it becomes apparent that my friend Andrew has already claimed said desk, upon which I slip easily into the desk behind Andrew's and jolt to attention as the exam is distributed.
Exam instructions are given, exam is undertaken, and all seem to be rolling along in a jolly manner until somewhere around the 2-hour point, when Gutsy completes his exam (keeners like me will be writing for another hour yet). Somewhere in my peripheral vision Gutsy, who is sitting 1 row over, 1 up, front and center to the prof, finishes his exam and hands it in; for some reason he bumbles about for awhile before slipping a note onto my desk on his way out the door.
I am jolted out of my intensely focused exam-writing state (I was in the zone, man!) by the flutter of paper hitting my desk. I look around in shock, first surveying the note's author, who simply smiles at me and walks out the door. My eyes immediately jump with panic to my prof, who is perched not 10 feet away and staring back in my direction, fully aware of my latest interchange. Thoughts race as I contemplate the consequences of being caught receiving a note during a university-level final exam. None of the scenarios running through my head sound very appealing. I search my prof's face, and read only the slightest knowing hint of a smile; apparently she shares my sneaking predilection that the note is of a more personal nature. I exhale. The panic begins to drain from my face as I finally turn my eyes and thoughts back to my exam.
I am taking no chances. I leave the note untouched and visible on my desktop until the exam's completion, despite the raised eyebrows and annoyingly knowing looks of my neighboring classmates. I hope and pray that my prof does not reconsider her benevolent oversight, and continue plugging away at my final.
Finally I make it through the exam, and after the usual goading of the prof that "time is up... last sentences please!" I finally complete the exam, gather my materials, and slip my mischief-causing love note into my pocket, blushing at my prof's irritatingly knowing smile, and slip out the door.
In the safety and seclusion of the hallway I examine the note further to behold the contact info of Gutsy himself (ladies, let me know if you're at all intrigued... I can pass it on!) I ditch out on the after-class pub rendezvous that Gutsy made a special point to emphasize to the class before his dramatic exit, and head home, with my head only slightly too big to fit through a single-frame doorway.
I guess that's what one can expect when writing final exams for the theatre department....
Drama, drama, drama.
1 I mean, the guy asked me out during a FINAL EXAM, what would you call him? [back
2 Well, he did tell me I looked good that day; or he liked my shirt, or something like that; whatever- the kid needs glasses. [back
Labels: stupidity, university life