To the girl sitting in My Seat,
You may be new to WKU, so I want to cut you some slack. I really, really do.
But, here on the Hill we have one simple rule — once you pick a seat, that is your spot for the rest of the year. Sorry. That’s just how it is.
If you desired the luxuriously windowed corner desk, you should’ve thought of that during syllabus week. Instead, you have me questioning whether or not this is the right classroom.
I survey the room for the group of pastel-wearing, frat-destined friends and the girl with the super edgy haircut. Everything is correct. I found my place. And you are in it.
Now, I must find a new seat. My semesterly ritual must be repeated, and the Hilltopper gods are angry. I am livid. My options are a chair in the back, where strained eyes can almost read the professor’s virtually silent lips, or a desk next to Mr. I-Participate-In-Class-Too-Much-And-Don’t-Shower-Enough.
I summon all my negative energy to shoot an unnoticed, yet terribly cold glance your direction, and I slump into a seat next to my new, fratty friends in the back of the room.
Still bewildered by your flagrant disregard for a timeless rule, I wonder if anyone else has noticed your error. The entire class dynamic is disrupted, and it is all your fault.
The professor walks in and begins her lecture. As expected, I cannot hear a word. She turns on her Powerpoint. The slides are rather hard to see. I send one more evil glare your way — a desperate Hail Mary to the front row.
But you don’t even notice. You’re pulling out your glasses. And now you’re squinting to see the screen, struggling to see the Powerpoint slides projected just five feet in front of you.
Keep the chair.
Sincerely,
Reprioritizing My Life
To The Girl Who Took My Desk
To the girl sitting in My Seat,
You may be new to WKU, so I want to cut you some slack. I really, really do.
But, here on the Hill we have one simple rule — once you pick a seat, that is your spot for the rest of the year. Sorry. That’s just how it is.
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If you desired the luxuriously windowed corner desk, you should’ve thought of that during syllabus week. Instead, you have me questioning whether or not this is the right classroom.
I survey the room for the group of pastel-wearing, frat-destined friends and the girl with the super edgy haircut. Everything is correct. I found my place. And you are in it.
Now, I must find a new seat. My semesterly ritual must be repeated, and the Hilltopper gods are angry. I am livid. My options are a chair in the back, where strained eyes can almost read the professor’s virtually silent lips, or a desk next to Mr. I-Participate-In-Class-Too-Much-And-Don’t-Shower-Enough.
I summon all my negative energy to shoot an unnoticed, yet terribly cold glance your direction, and I slump into a seat next to my new, fratty friends in the back of the room.
Still bewildered by your flagrant disregard for a timeless rule, I wonder if anyone else has noticed your error. The entire class dynamic is disrupted, and it is all your fault.
The professor walks in and begins her lecture. As expected, I cannot hear a word. She turns on her Powerpoint. The slides are rather hard to see. I send one more evil glare your way — a desperate Hail Mary to the front row.
But you don’t even notice. You’re pulling out your glasses. And now you’re squinting to see the screen, struggling to see the Powerpoint slides projected just five feet in front of you.
Keep the chair.
Sincerely,
Reprioritizing My Life