Gone is the peaceful tranquility of my faculty devoid of students. The peace was shattered this morning by the sound of stampeding feet trying to hurry to 8am classes, far too much makeup for this hour this morning, shrill howls of “Aaaahhh! It’s you! Aahhh!” from every girl. This seems to be a cry that girls take up, as if stating the blindingly obvious somehow constitutes conversation.
Now I don’t mind the noise. That, I can handle. But it is the constant stream of people walking into your office, asking inane questions that you should somehow know the answer to. No, I do not know what the requirements of advanced tax law are. No, I have no opinion on which tie you should wear. And to the stupid blonde who has now dyed her hair brown (I still know how f&*%ing stupid you are, by the way), no, I have no idea about some random lecturer’s subject that you are too lazy to find out about yourself.
I am slamming the proverbial door.
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