In high school, there was a wall of a woman who oftentimes sat in front of me thanks to our alphabetically consecutive surnames. Her name was Stacy. She had teeth like the goblins in Harry Potter or maybe Bat Boy. She wore many sassy Tweety Bird shirts, which is not to say that she had an interest in Warner Brothers characters. Instead it was an indicator of the women's plus size selection at the Pelham Wal-Mart. Certainly it has become a uniform. Wal-Mart is slowly amassing an army, obese women from coast to coast outfitted in 4XL Fruit of the Loom t-shirts featuring a pissed off Tinkerbell or teddy bears in backward baseball caps and baggy jeans.
Do the large women identify with these graphics? Why does Wal-Mart want the women to wear this? Why is Tweety so angry? This is a tangent, but please meditate upon these important issues at a later date.
Stacy had a habit of shaking her leg, which is always annoying if sharing a bench or at the movies. I never waited for the bus or visited the theater with Stacy, but these location limitations did not apply to her massive form. Classmates sitting in proximity felt the leg bounce as a mild earthquake, a moderate annoyance. And because the epicenter of this quake was her thigh, the rippling effects upon her body nauseatingly resembled a water bed in outer space. Bless her heart, though, that despite her unfortunate body mass, apparel, and jiggle inclinations she was still SO annoying.
When our teacher posed a question, Stacy would sigh loudly and exasperatedly exclaim, "Who knows?" This comment was not reserved for difficult questions or even for every now and then; Stacy mistakenly assumed the role of class spokeswoman for almost every question asked of us. "What can you guys tell me about blindness as a theme in King Lear?" "Who knows?" "How does a covalent bond work?" "Who knows?" "¿Cómo te llamas?" "¿Quién sabe?" She would often cut me off when I knew the answer. Some teachers would take her word for it and believe none of us had a response! My infuriation climaxed one day when the hypervocalization of Stacy's nonpluss repeatedly halted class discussion so that no progress was made. She was enjoying it, deriving pleasure from that which exasperated me! This was the advanced English 12 course; she was challenging the class's titular superiority with her idiocy. Our particularly feeble English teacher entertained Stacy by engaging her into long tangents wherein she would coax the correct answer out of Stacy. This infuriating loser duet put us so far behind the other classes. My senior year of high school, I studied two works in my literature course: The Cantebury Tales and Macbeth. That's about ten months, y'all.
I needed to take action. Since I knew the teacher was weak, she would acquiesce to my request to silence Stacy's incessant interruptions. I packed my things slowly and I approached Ms. Essman as the last students exited the classroom. Tactfully, I mentioned my desire for more class discussions and that our studies were being impeded by my classmates' interjections and tangents. She did crack the whip on this, in that she began to ignore Stacy's outbursts. Needless to say, class was so boring after that. I slept more and cared far less as graduation came nearer and nearer.