Dear "Guy Who Talks Into His Phone as if it Were a Walkie-Talkie"...

YO, DAWG, WHAT UP? WHERE YOU AT? HAAA, NO WAI, YOU MOTHERFUCKER. YOU SHITTIN' ME. YOU BE SHITTIN' ME. SHIIIIIIT. -INSERT GARBLED WORDS THAT MAY OR MAY NOT BE AN ALIEN LANGUAGE-

Ahem, sorry. I was just inspired by your conversations recently, I couldn't help it.

Today, I thought I'd introduce to you something called a cell phone. The general concept is that you speak into one end and hold the other to your ear so that you may hear the other person respond. These interactions, known as "phone calls" are generally quiet. There is the occasional event in which it is difficult to hear the other person due to the shit network you may have, like the rest of us. Step behind a tree and all of a sudden, signal stops. Instantly. This is somehow solved by you speaking louder. Perhaps they can't hear you either, so you should yell into your phone, scaring the everloving shit out of everyone around you.

"DAVE?! DAVE, CAN YOU HEAR ME? I THINK WE GOT CUT OFF."

Yes, I think so too.

Regardless.

You, my fine sir, are not guilty of this. You throw all concept of a phone out the window and treat that hunk of plastic and metal in your hand as if it is a microphone, broadcasting your conversation to the world around you, or a walkie-talkie. Sometimes I wait to hear that telltale 'chirp' that all those walkie-talkie phones give off, to somehow justify you, but it never comes. Instead, more yelling from you.

Let me ask you something: how can you possibly tell what the fuck the other person is saying? Your ear is nowhere NEAR that speaker.

I...I just don't understand this whole concept.

I won't pretend to not notice what demographic of people do this.

Black men, why?

It seems as though something is coded into your DNA to force you to, when your phone rings, check it, open it, probably sliding it open exposing the QWERTY keyboard (why, I don't know, seeing as you won't even be texting...) and then proceed to scream into your phone in an odd dialect no one can understand. All your words slur together with the most absurd combination of sounds I have ever heard.

I don't know. I am just so confused at this practice, I don't even have anything witty to say.

Just please don't waddle in my way when I'm trying to get to class, holding the front of your HUGE jeans so they don't fall down with one hand, and screaming into the phone held a foot away from your mouth with your other hand.

Maybe then I won't contemplate accidentally tripping you and laughing as you tumble to the ground and can't get up because your pants are around your ankles.

-Observer

Dear "Arrogant and Over-Opinionated Older Woman"...

Hey. It's the person a few rows back from you. How are you? I don't really need to ask, as you'll tell the professor regardless if he asked you. After all, he -has- to be interested in your life, right? Given that you talk up the most in class, ask the most questions, which aren't really questions, and give your opinion when neither the situation nor anyone asked for it.

I understand that as an older woman, you wish to do something with your life and go back to school. However, this is not the working world, which I'm sure you never got involved in before you came back to school. You do not get rewarded for kissing anyone's ass here. Sure, it may -seem- as though kissing up to the professor may result in higher grades, but alas, the TA does the grading. Sucks for you.

Your behavior in class is deplorable.

1. Do not laugh at others, you arrogant bitch. In class the other day, a student asked if our midterm was on Wednesday. It was. Okay. You, in your pompous little way, started laughing, in that haughty, screeching tone of yours. What. Everyone in class just stared at you, but you were too busy gazing after the professor in hopes of catching an approving, proud look from him. Did you really expect him to smile at you? For making the other student feel like shit? Fuck you. Even the Frat Guys behind me were shocked at your bitchiness.

2. No one cares that you think the US government is corrupt. Not every point brought up in the lesson is an opportunity for you to tell us that. "France's economy was steadily worked on by the government..." You raise your hand. "Yes?" You clear your throat, as if magic will spew forth from your insides. "Well, I think the US government shields public from the real events and torture they do to supposed terrorists. They lie to its own citizens." The class goes quiet. "Um, well, yes, that is your opinion, but what does that have to do with the lesson?" Nothing. That's what. So SHUT the fuck up. Do not attempt to display your worldliness with us. We don't care.

3. Do not flirt with the professor. I get it; you're middle aged, he's middle aged, it's a perfect match, right?! No. This man is married. With a child. I'm sure you would have been should you have gotten your life together...maybe. Regardless, he is not interested. Do not approach him before class, gushing how excited you are for his class today, and that you read up on all these nifty international articles last night you'd like to share with him. Do not gaze after him longingly during class, continually talking, hoping he'll acknowledge you. Do not approach him after class, again gushing that his class is -so- enthralling, and how glad you are that you decided to enroll in his particular course. It's sickening. I'd tell you to focus on your peers, but...then again, we are not your peers really. You think yourself better than us, we think you repulsive. It balances out somehow.

So please, shut your face hole in the future. I know it will not happen, but one can hope.

Oh, and you dying your hair red-violet is not fooling anyone; you are still middle aged, not rebellious. Pfft. Ridiculous.

-Observer

Dear "Guy With His Socks Pulled Almost to His Knees"...

I've seen you so many, many times around campus. When I see you, it makes me wonder...Are your legs cold? I can't imagine a pair of jean shorts with tall white socks is very warm. I would suggest a pair of regular, full length jeans. Or leg warmers. That would be more acceptable than your absurd socks.

I can just tell you are a nerd. Or perhaps a geek. So am I. I understand. However, you make me ashamed to call myself one. (I suppose I should be, regardless of my kind's apparel...) Men: if you wish to wear socks that high, make sure they're awesomesauce enough to display in such a way. Do they have Pokemon dotting the fabric? Are they striped, argyle, spotted, whathaveyou? No? Are they plain white, maybe even with a single colored stripe on the top? Yes? Then please, do me a favor and do not wear them with a pair of shorts. Please.

This is absurd looking, yes? Are you hiding something in there? Maybe if you had a stash of emergency cash in there, I could understand. A pack of gum. DRUGS. But no. The only thing in those socks are your hairy legs.

Do you remember high school? Homecoming week, I believe. Nearly every year during Homecoming week, there would be theme days, in which the entire school would be expected to don an outfit that suited said themes. Eh, most didn't care. Hula Day. Really? Let me grab the grass skirt I just happened to have laying around the house. And don't forget your eye patch for Pirate Day. (Well, perhaps I wouldn't mind dressing like a pirate. Perhaps.)

I digress.

Nerd Day. That is the day I meant to address. Nerd Day: a day in which the jocks and whores and artists and band geeks (different than the average nerd, of course) and metal-heads and Free Thinkers and whatever clique you can think of would dress the part of a nerd. Suspenders. Thick glasses, most likely with tape in the middle. (Show me a modern nerd with that.) Bow tie. Khakis. Pocket protectors, for those humiliating ink leaks! And socks. Socks pulled up to the knee. Long, white socks.

It is one of the SHINING BEACONS of being a nerd.

You are not rocking those socks. Put some Golden Snitches on those socks, if you wish to. Those would be awesomesauce, and even gain you some admiring nods or looks from your fellow nerds.

But those plain white socks underneath jean shorts are garnering you nothing but a roll of the eyes and a mental note:

What a nerd.

-Observer

Dear "Guy Who Leaves His Food on the Desk"...

This is the unfortunate next occupant of the desk you just vacated. I do not know who you are, what you look like, your name, anything. However, I do know your food tastes. After all, you did just leave an empty bag of chips and a semi empty cup of coffee on 'my' desk.

Why did you just leave it there? Were you in such a rush you did not have time to grab your disgustingly greasy food and throw it out in the bin on your way out of class? Well, that wouldn't make sense, as you were able to grab your bag, notes, and book. Then again...when I think about it, you are probably one of those guys who carry nothing but a beat-up notebook to class. Once in class, you realize that you do not have a writing utensil to take notes with. You then loudly ask for one from your buddy across the room. He steals one from the girl beside him and then throws it to you. You then sit through class drawing on the desk. A dick, probably.

Ah, but the food, of course. You opened the -of course- loud chip bag right when the professor is stating the 'all important piece of information you need for the test on Thursday' and proceed to eat the Suddenly Crispiest Chips of All Time. Oh look, there go the crumbs I will unfortunately find next hour cascading from your mouth. Lovely.

Don't forget to take a sip of your overpriced Java Latte Frappe Mocha FrouFrou Espresso you had to get for class. Your body can't run on the leftover Keystone you ingested last night. But no whipped creme, of course. Only pussies drink it with whipped creme.

Shit, class is over. Take your empty notebook with you, stick the stolen pencil behind your pierced ear, and get the fuck out of here. I'm sure as you leave, you pass me. I take no notice. There's so many of you, you just blend in with the crowd. I make my way into the class, and goddammitwhatthefuckisthisshit.

What do you expect me to do with this stuff? Throw it away like you should have? No chance, class is starting, and there are too many late people walking in. I guess I'll just throw it on the ledge of the window you were no doubt gazing out of for now.

Ah, it's nice and breezy here! Too bad the curtains block the wind...oh...

Well, there goes the rest of your Cafe Latte Mochachino Espresso with caramel.

I guess I'll leave it for the janitor.

-Observer