1) Worst possible thing to say to a top professor: “This isn’t Yale.”
2) Worst possible thing to say to a cute girl: “I’m into sickly girls.”
Context, you ask?
1) Yesterday my teacher had a meltdown in our Language and Culture class. He is one of the top linguists in the nation and has watched his graduate level seminar’s attendance dwindle from an initial attendance of 25 to 6. For those of you math majors this means 19 people have dropped. Nineteen!
Today I went in to talk to him about his outburst yesterday in class in which he demanded that we all “get out of the room.” Heads low we scurried away, tail between our legs at our repeated failure to come prepared, or as I call it, “Act like Yale students.” In his office this morning he was literally on the verge of tears, his frustration, for months on simmer having reached full boil.
“Is it too much to ask of the students to come to class prepared? Why won’t you all just read the material before class and come ready to learn?”
To be honest, I didn’t know what to say. I did, however, know what NOT to say. The worst possible thing would be my little Yale comment, which I think is so cute. I looked to the ground, biting my lip. In slow motion, I felt my mouth begin to open, the forces of my body conspiring against my better judgment to Just. Shut. Up.
“Well Dr. Auguwelle, perhaps you should remember this isn’t Yale.”
He just stared at me, his eyes like dinner plates, stone armed and freezing. I muttered something about returning some video tapes and got the hell out of there.
2) Last night at CRU, another social casualty. I find myself talking to a really cute girl, the conversation going well since I’m putting my acerbic wit to good use. My capri pants give me that added confidence, my only concern is that perhaps I'm too good looking.
But the girl, despite her reluctant beauty, looks very pale. A broken record in perpetual loop echoes through my head, Don’t tell her she looks really pale, Don’t tell her she looks really pale, Don’t tell her…
A lull in the conversation, things slow down. Low and behold, I open my mouth and say, “You look really pale.”
WTF MOUTH!!!???
She stares at me, off balance, wondering why I would say that. I stare back, wondering the same thing. Three seconds of silence pass. Crickets.
Finally I offer, “But it’s cool. I’m into sickly girls too.”
3 comments:
We both know flattery ruins the creative impulse but this is funny stuff. You need help though.
You know...you could just not say anything.
also, Guys shouldn't call them capries, that sounds efeminant, the terms you are looking for are flood pants or highwaters.
So today, I was at a swim meet, and this guy came into the natatorium and for a second I seriously thought it was you. But then I realized, it WAS you, just in maybe 10 or 15 years. I wanted to take a picture of him, but that would have been weird. :)
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