The Insufferables

Just before spring break, I usually realize that I hate people. I manage to conceal this rather well, but I hate them nonetheless. I hate that online student that shows up in my office so she can finally meet me, and then rambles hyperactively for half an hour about Stargate: SGU. I hate that student that knocks on my closed door to ask for a stapler. I hate the janitor that mills about doing nothing while the paper towels in the ladies room run out so that I have to wipe my wet hands on my ass. I hate that retiring dean that in so many words told the curriculum committee to fuck off. I hate the woman that keeps writing me about renting regalia for graduation, which we are required to attend and for which we are required to wear regalia.

But my orneriness is not limited to my campus. I hate that woman in my Bible study group that finds some reason to cry every. Fucking. Week. I hate my husband, who prods me incessantly via email with news stories he knows will only make me furious, and then camps out near my computer eyeing me warily and waiting for me to blow. I hate my daughter’s loathsome girlfriend, whose only purpose seems to be to whine for snacks and then deliberately rip off her Ritalin patch. (Note to self: Never remove anyone’s Ritalin patch.) Before spring break, even Jon Stewart begins to annoy me, and I want to smack his smug face, as well as the face of the Fox executive that is probably going to cancel Fringe. (The person that would cancel Fringe needs to be kicked in the taint, often and hard, until they promise not to cancel Fringe.)

Spring break arrives just in time, a shimmering oasis in a fiery desert. But, like an oasis, its rewards are just as likely to be illusory. I return more tired than when I left, the orgy of anal-retentive planning and packing followed by another orgy of unpacking and attempting to unwind, which I realize is impossible so long as my mother is within a 200-mile radius, not to mention in the next room. Then, the packing begins again.

But of course, I could solve all these problems myself, though I won’t. I could tell the Stargate fan that she has to leave because her babbling is giving me a migraine. I could open the door a crack, tell the stapler-hog I only use paper clips, and shut the door again. I could stop washing my hands after I pee. I could attend the dean’s retirement party and spit in the punch. I could buy a cheap graduation robe on ebay, one of those sheeny things that looks about as sturdy as a black handi-wipe, with no velvet bars, and play angry birds during the graduation ceremony. I could abandon the Bible study meeting. I could refuse to open emails from my husband. I could tell my mother her problems with our family are not mine, and shut the fuck up about it anyway because goddammit Conan is on. I could stop letting my daughter have friends over, stop watching Jon Stewart, and remind myself that all good things must end at some point, even Fringe.

And even College Misery. Yes, if that’s the way it has to be. Because who among us would put up with extraneous, petty, thankless bullshit when we already have so much required petty, thankless bullshit to endure? Not me. I wouldn’t take a mod’s job here and put up with that crap. As such I suppose I float along on the tolerance and good will of others that take it upon themselves to maintain this site and sift through the garbage that some bottom feeders here choose to anonymously dish out. I don’t know how to solve that sort of thing except to say many people are assholes in real life, and on the internet that number increases geometrically.

The only other thing I have to say is thank you, thank you to those whose patience and dedication have made this site possible, and fuck you to the cowardly assholes that see fit to abuse them.

You know who you are.