3/30 - it's a mad mad mad mad class

I'm sitting in calculus class, first day. Somewhere to my left is someone very stinky. To my immediate right is a small girl who looks to be about 16 years old. One of those young math whizzes, I suppose. She has long scraggly hair pulled back into a pony tail, a bright colourful knit sweater, jeans about six inches too short with a cellphone stuffed in one pocket and a wallet bulging out of the other. Pink fabric disappears down the back of her jeans which I initially assume is a tucked in t-shirt, but later discover to be granny style underpants rising up armpit high. Her backpack takes up most of the space on the table we share, and she takes out a gigantic electronic pencil sharpener and an un-sharpened pencil.

The class begins and the prof begins passing out handouts. He passes them to whoever is on the outside of each bench, in my case, this Strange Little Girl (SLG). She doesn't pass them along. I, confused, ask the prof for another copy of the syllabus, to which he replies he's already handed them all out and indicates the pile next to SLG. Eventually she passes them along. He begins the lecture, discussing what this semester is going to be all about, his expectations, etc. SLG takes her pencil and pokes it into the electronic pencil sharpener. A loud WHIRRRRRRRR ensues. The prof pauses for a moment, and then continues. WHIRRRRRR. Pause. WHIRRRRRR. Pause. WHIRRRRRR.

The prof asks, "is that thing working?" "Not very well." replies SLG. The lecture continues.

"WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR," goes the pencil sharpener. "WHIRRRRR." Snickers trickle up from the back of the class (I'm in the front row, obviously). I pull a spare mechanical pencil from my case and lean over to SLG. "Why don't you borrow this one?" I ask. She takes it from me and begins to examine it, systematically dismantling it and then putting it back together. She puts it down beside her backpack and pokes her stubby pencil back into the sharpener.

WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRWHIRRRWHIRRRRRRR. The lecture continues, and the class continues to snicker. WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR. WHIRRRRRRRRR.

"Does she need to borrow a pencil?" the girl to my left whispers, "I've already lent her one." I reply. WHIRRRRRR. WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR.

The prof looks at the class and asks, "am I supposed to say something here?" "YES!" roars the class. The prof looks at SLG and says, "could you, you know . . .?" and she puts the stubby pencil down. Thirty whole seconds go by. Pencil resumes position. Whirring resumes. Lecture goes on. Snickering continues.

WHIRRRRRR. WHIRRRRRRRRRRRRR. WHI......

"Could you just use the pencil I lent you?" I ask, "this is very distracting." This ceases the whirring for another thirty seconds or so.

(please note that at this point we haven't taken any notes yet).

The class breaks for five minutes, and SLG goes at 'er hardcore and sharpens the heck out of that pencil. Phew! Other students congregating in the hall commiserate about how annoying the first hour of the first class has been. My mechanical pencil is returned to me unused.

Class resumes, and by the grace of some magnificent force, there is no more whirring. Work starts, and the class is feverishly writing notes, with the exception of SLG who has taken out her textbook and has bent over the table firmly pressing her forehead into it. Her fingers travel in and out of her nose. Suddenly, a new, much quieter noise is coming from SLG. bzzzzz. bzzzzz. Her cell phone is ringing in her pocket. She fishes it out, opens it up and very quietly says, "call back later, I'm in class." pause. "NO! CALL BACK LATER, I'M IN CLASS!"

Giggling is coming from the back of the class. Thirty seconds passes, the prof is forging on with the lecture.

The cellphone comes out again. "I SAID CALL BACK LATER, I'M IN CLASS!!!!" SLG shouts into her phone.

Full scale, uncontrollable laughter comes from the back of the class. I am sitting very still, and trying with every fibre in my body to remain quiet. A girl apologies to the prof for laughing. He says not to worry, and then asks SLG if she needs to leave the room to make a phone call. She says no.

The rest of the class was fairly unremarkable, with the exception of this strange forehead pressing into textbook thing going on beside me. SLG didn't write a single word with her sharp pencil. Not-a-one.

This is going to be a long semester.