There is a man behind the wall (and he is yelling)

So I know I've been MIA, and I don't have much of an excuse for it. (School started. Homework and work and writing are taking up my time! Oh, and I've spent a good amount of time watching all three seasons of Veronica Mars. But no excuses.) To make things worse, this post isn't going to have anything to do with writing. I could talk about how I'm having a very, very hard time finishing my stupid first draft, or I could write about the torture that is my snobby writing classes, or about how the first season of VM is the perfect example of what a story should be (the plotting, the dialogue, the characters, I'M DROOLING!), but instead you're getting this. I apologize in advance.

For those of you who don't know, I work in the journal department of a university press. We operate pretty separately from the university itself, except for the fact that we’re actually on campus, sharing a building with the continuing education department.

Usually this isn’t a problem, there are rarely students in the building and our little bank of cubicles is tucked into a usually quiet corner of the building, separate from the other offices and press departments.

But there is a classroom.

The only classroom that’s actually located in the building, actually, and we share a wall. My cubicle, wall, teacher standing at the chalkboard. (The below visual provided by me and my amateur Paint skills.) There used to even be a door connecting the room to our office area, but nobody used it so it was taken out last summer. It was thought that without the door maybe we wouldn’t be able to hear what was going on in the classroom. Nice thought. But oh so wrong.

Pretty, I know.

We can hear everything. It doesn’t help that this classroom has somehow become the designated classroom for foreign grad students. So not only can I hear every word being said, often times they are words I don’t even understand.

Most days I can block it out; I can tune out enough that the professor sounds more like the Charlie Brown teacher than anything. But today. Oh no, today the teacher is yelling.

YELLING!

He’s speaking English, but there’s a translator in there too. So he yells, then a quieter voice echoes him in Japanese. It’s hilarious in a way, but it’s getting old already.

So that's all I've got...my short tale of Yelling Man, the geography teacher from hell. I promise the posts will pick up in frequency and non-lameness forthwith.

(Oh one last thing. Did I mention he’s teaching American geography? He just finished a thrilling monologue on the different areas of the US. I give you the following as a word-for-word example of how my workday is going: “WE ARE IN THE MIDWEST RIGHT NOW! CHICAGO IS LIKE THE CAPITAL OF THE MIDWEST! THE ROCKY MOUNTAIN AREA IS THE LEAST POPULATED! IT IS MOSTLY MOUNTAINS AND DESERTS AND DOESN’T HAVE AS MANY PEOPLE! AND NOW LET’S TALK ABOUT BORDERS! AMERICA IS BORDERED BY CANADA AND MEXICO! A LOT OF PEOPLE IN MEXICO TRY AND GET INTO THE US…” I wish I was kidding.)

UPDATE: A coworker has complained about the yeller to the Powers That Be. She says, "Does he think that speaking louder means he won't need the translator?" So far, he is still yelling, but we've moved on to discussing the American political system...yikes.

Letter to a Stranger (or how I almost hit someone at Midway)

Dear Man in Front of Me in Line,

It's cold.

I agree, Chicago at midnight in January = cold.

I know this, you know this, the hundred and fifty people standing in front of us in this Taxi line know this. But really, it's not that cold.

Now, my irritation in your line-standing behavior may have something to do with my flight having been delayed two hours or landing at midnight when I know I have to get up for work tomorrow at 6am or the million other people who are, for some reason, trying to get a cab into the city. But I'm not thinking rationally at the moment.

So I'm just going to blame you.

Here is why:

1 . I can pretend to understand your desire to bundle up out here, (not really, because I'm standing behind you in an unzipped jacket and am Not Cold At All, but I'll let that go) but it would have saved a lot of time (and kept me from losing my mind) if you would have put on your scarf, gloves, hat, earphones, and ski mask* before coming out and getting into line.

2. That backpack you're carrying does not look very heavy. (Of course, I've got a computer bag slung across my back and a second carryon on my shoulder that are filled with books--heavy books**--so I might just be feeling jealous.) I'm curious about why you aren't taking advantage of the handy straps on that pack and wearing it on your back.

This is an only barely exaggerated account of your twenty minutes in line. (Also known as the twenty minutes in which you were nearly clubbed in the back of the head with a heavy book.)

You get in line. (I line up a second later thinking, "Damn, if I had just knocked down that slow couple in baggage I would be further up in line.") You set your backpack down. Take out your gloves. Put on one glove. The line moves. You pick up backpack, take a step, drop other glove, set backpack down, pick up glove, pick up backpack, pull luggage, move forward 4 steps.

You set down backpack (I start to feel the press of impending mental breakdown.) You put on other glove. Get out scarf. Line moves. (I bounce on my toes, "Move, move, you idiot," I think.***) You toss scarf over your shoulder, pick up backpack, take 4 steps forward, set down backpack, wrap scarf around your neck.

This pattern continues with your headphones, and your hat (which you also drop), and again with your scarf. (Seriously, we, the others in line, don't care how you're wearing your scarf. Over your jacket collar, under it, looped, knotted, draped, Stop Messing With It!) Can you see what I'm getting at? Irritating.

And when you are paired with the man behind me, who keeps mumbling "What's he doing? That idiot. Is there another line? What is he doing? *sigh* He's doing it all wrong..." about the airport employee who is organizing the person to taxi process, my brain is starting to bubble and boil and someone is gonna get clocked with these books.

But we are reaching the front of the line. You get in a taxi. I drag my stuff to a cab and the over-worked employee even loads my million pound rolling bag into the trunk for me. And all is good in the world again. (Minus the fact that it is now 12:30 and I won't be home till one and then I'll only get four hours of sleep. But this I cannot blame on you. Unfortunately.)

Also, I hope you overheat in your cab. Are you sweating? Bet you are.

Your truly,

Ashley

*To be honest, there was no ski mask involved, but I wouldn't have been surprised if he had whipped one out. (Haha, whip it out.)

**It is a sign that you have a problem when you leave for vacation with 3 books and come back with 11. Oops.

***Again, I am aware that thinking that your slowness has anything to do with how long we'll be in line is irrational. There's nowhere to go, even if you are on your game. But still. My brain would like to blame you.