Due to my atrocious eyesight (I'm legally blind), I am obliged to sit in the one of the first three rows of lectures halls in order to be able to see the board. Normally, this would not be such a tragic fate to endure. However, I seem to attract a peculiar crowd on a near daily basis.
Almost every lecture I attend, I am plagued with cloud of pungent odors that, let me tell you, do not resemble any bouquet of flowers you have ever encountered. If you have ever been forced to sit next to someone whose oily hair and putrid body odor pervaded your nostrils to such an extent that you no longer remembered what fresh air smells like, you understand my wretched fate. No matter how much you will yourself to ignore the detestable scent and listen to the professor discuss absolutism in 17th century France, that stench refuses to go unnoticed.
After I graduated from high school, I was under the impression that classrooms would no longer reek of sweat, grease and a raunchy rump, but I guess it was pretty naïve of me to think that entering college meant showering on at least an every-other-day basis. It appears that for many students spending the extra five to 10 minutes a day to take a quick shower or even just swipe on their Secret or Old Spice deodorant is just too much of a nuisance and should be postponed for a few days.
Sadly, this does not cover the full extent of my regrettable fate. I have on countless occasions also endured another smelly population: Those afflicted with uncontrollable gas. I'm not talking about the occasional slip up—we all are subject to those, and I am quite forgiving when such incidents befall my neighbor. I'm talking about a never ending stream of gas that wafts up your nostrils and persists until you are literally saved by the bell from near suffocation. During these nasty episodes of ceaseless lethal gas, it is my belief that one should take the necessary steps to remedy the situation: Either stay home or take about four Beano.
As if these ghastly odors permeating my nose during class weren't enough, I also tend to attract people who enjoy conducting in-depth conversations with themselves or giving themselves pep-talks before starting an assignment in the library. I used to be totally down with sharing a table at College Library with a complete stranger—who knows, maybe they'll turn out to be the love of my life, share my passion for wine or be the best cooking comrade ever.
But once these curious characters who feel it necessary to do a warm up stretch and chant before beginning an accounting project started becoming a regular presence, I started preferring the claustrophobic cubbies to a table that lures such company. Guests like these only result in me awkwardly avoiding eye contact, trying fruitlessly to curb the smirk twitching at the corners of my lips and accomplishing virtually none of my homework due to the fact that I am forced to text all of my friends a play-by-play of this quirky creature.
So, to avoid future problems, I have learned to always sit solo or at a packed table when spending time in the library so as to avoid these untimely and unproductive run-ins. But in lecture, unfortunately, it appears I will be forced to breathe in the various noxious gases and body odors diffusing from my neighbors. And my attention span will suffer greatly from it until I miraculously wake up one day with 20/20 vision.
