Wednesday, April 13, 2011

Juice Newton

At the beginning of the semester, I sort of had a crush on my lab professor. He was appealing in an Alton Brown sort of way---knowledgeable, awkward, socially inept, unabashedly nerdy--and for this reason, I thought that we could get through the course with relative ease.

With each week, it became more evident that instead of being a quirky intellectual, this man was actually a serial killer. This assessment was confirmed by the 3rd class, when the girl next to me described a nightmare wherein he murdered the entire class.

Tonight, I went to lab. This was no small feat; it poured the entire day, which resulted in a driveway completely covered in worms. As we all know, I don't do worms. They're just not my thing, ya dig? They bring on panic attacks, suicidal thoughts, and the urge to put my feet on the steering wheel because I'm now convinced the worms have somehow made it into the car and they're going to touch me and OH GOD. Despite my handicap, I make it to campus. I even find a parking spot. I think "this isn't so bad." I walk into lab with the innocence of a spring lamb. And what do I find? An entire room FULL of jars brimming with various types of worms.

I quietly walk up to the serial killer. " have a worm phobia." He looks up at me with a raised eyebrow. After 60 years of silence, he finally replies "you won't have to touch them." I decide to try again. "No, but's really bad. Like, I like...panic. And stuff." He continues to stare at me as if he truly can't register what I'm saying. "Is there an alternative assignment I could complete?" He shakes his head and tells me I either have to stay or take a zero. I try to sit at my table, but there's a tank of leeches right next to me and one of them is clinging to the side of the glass and I start to itch. My lab partner has no idea what to make of me at this point. The clinging leech wiggles and falls into a pile of other squirming leeches, which I take as my personal cue to powerwalk my Richard Simmons ass the fuck out of there.

Due to the heartless, humorless nature of my serial killer professor, I now have a zero. No love. No compassion. No sympathy for my scoleciphobia. But you know what, professor? I'm trying to give you the benefit of the doubt. So when I get home I Google you, trying to find something that humanizes you--a family picture, a blog post about your grandfather, a Facebook even--but all I find is your thesis.

About a paramecium.

So much for trying to cut people some slack around here.


Edna said...

Awww, babe.

Tina Marie said...

When I saw the worms that day, I though of you!