When not procrastinating as a mild-mannered blogger, my day job is that of a mild-mannered college professor. Yeah, that's me; got the loafers to prove it, too!
The office in which I grade papers and plot the next great warping of the mind's of America's youth is the first one on a hall that opens up into a central meeting area of the building, one in which students gather at the snack shop and share their witty insights into life -- as they know it -- and say the "F" word a lot in the process. Seriously. What is it with that?
They also whip out their cell phones like they're drawing down at the OK Corral and staring down the barrel of Ike Clanton's shotgun. I'm just waiting for the day that evolution of the hand-cell phone connection begins to occur, when the hand either grafts itself onto the phone or begins to sprout push-button numbers of its own. But I digress.
The point of this rant is to address those people -- and students are an example but in no way the lone offenders -- who seem to think that they somehow become engulfed in a soundproof booth just because they start speaking into their phone. Do they REALLY think no one can hear them? Or are they all hearing-impaired from blasting Lady GaGa at about a bazillion decibels through their earbuds and under the assumption that if they are, so in fact must everyone else be? Hard to tell.
What I do know is that yesterday I learned all about the transgressions of someone named "Joel" against his entire family, and that he was, like, so guilty of disrespecting the woman on the phone whose name I still do not know. But I do know that she gets gas when she eats too much broccoli; that she love, love, LOVES brownies; and is apparently completely unaware of why anyone would try to sabotage her relationship with "Wes," but when she finds out who is sending him those nasty text messages there is going to be "hell to pay." Apparently "Wes" is completely innocent, and is only responding to the offending young woman to help the love of his life to first locate and identify the "trash" pursing him, and then watch as the love of his life causes permanent bodily damage to said "trash." Apparently that was also his purpose in sending said "trash" a picture of himself, a la Brett Favre. All I know is that "Wes" is apparently either really, really cute or a really, really good liar or both!
Anyway, my hope is that this blog serves as a small note of caution to all those out there who -- cell phone in hand and firmly pressed to their ears -- stand in grocery lines or loiter in public places while they argue with their spouses, threaten neighbors with legal action if they let their dogs go number two in the yard again, and discuss their sex lives in great detail while mild-mannered college professors, masquerading as bloggers, take it all in and share it with the world.
Yes, that's me. The one behind you grinning while you babble incessently and taking mental notes for the next blog. Please, continue speaking. No one hears you but me...
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