Yelling “YOU SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES” at My Professor in the Middle of Class and Storming Out of the Room for Shits and Because I Have Free Will
Yelling “YOU SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES” at My Professor in the Middle of Class and Storming Out of the Room for Shits and Because I Have Free Will
By Anonymous
It’s 8:37 am on a Thursday. The Law Auditorium is silent, save for the incessant sniffling coming from the girl next to me (just leave to go blow your nose you piece of shit), a few scattered coughs, and the drum of keys on a hundred keyboards. My professor, a middle-aged sixty year-old-woman with a propensity for saying “We’re all fucked” at the end of class (I’m a political science major) stands at the front of the auditorium, explaining… something. I’m not listening. All I can think about is how much I wanted to sock the girl next to me in the face.
Suddenly, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I banged my fist hard against my desk, stood up, and shouted, at the top of my lungs, “YOU SIT ON A THRONE OF LIES.” I then stormed out of the room without looking back, leaving all my belongings behind.
This instance is just one of many examples of its kind; in the past few weeks, I have started down a troubling path of dramatically interrupting my classes. I’m not sure why I do it. Maybe it’s because I have a desperate craving for attention. Maybe (definitely) I am touch-starved and the eyes of a lecture hall full of half-awake people is the closest I can get to actual touch. Maybe I can’t handle stressful situations, maybe I’m just a dramatic bitch who loves chaos, or maybe I’m a psychopath out for vengeance. I really don’t know. All I know is that it’s become an obsession. An addiction.
It started out with just a silly prank: I was taking my EC101 midterm. It was open notes and on the computer (you can’t convince me that economics is actually real), so I had full access to the scope of the internet. The entirety of Morse Auditorium was packed with people, all stressed and quietly working on their exams, and I just couldn’t stop myself. I opened up YouTube, and, in the middle of the silent exam hall, played the intro to Clash of Clans. You know the one. Da-da-da. Da-dum-da-dum.
The typing stopped. The professor looked around confused at the front of the room. A few people snickered, and then everyone went back to their exams. Just like that. It was glorious. No one knew it was me, and no one ever will, but that instance would live on in infamy in the minds of every exam taker.
It got worse after that. I sought that high. The high of knowing that the scene I was causing would become a story spread throughout the lives of the people who had stood witness. Through my dramatic interjections, I could secure my legacy. And the best part: there was no one who could stop me. As long as I stuck to only one incident (maybe two if I was lucky) spaced appropriately throughout the semester and acted like everything was normal the next time I came into class, I could get away with anything I wanted to.
What were my professors going to do about it anyway? Meet with me and ask why I suddenly rushed out of the room after yelling “THAT’S NOT WHAT UR MOM TOLD ME” while they were talking about the projectile motion of a ball being thrown into the air? No. No one ever wants to have that conversation. Tell me to leave BU and seek professional help? Please. Not only does my tuition pay their salary, but, at this point, professionals have given up all hope of fixing me (believe me, they’ve tried). As long as I don't do it or talk about it again, there’s nothing they can do.
And so I will continue on. There are so many aspects of my life over which I feel I have no control. It seems that, according to the universe, I’m one big cosmic joke. At this point, I’m barely hanging on, and my impeccably-timed, albeit extremely inappropriate, outbursts are a way I can prove to myself that I have some control over my life, even if it’s small. So, if you’re ever in need of some proof that you indeed have free will, give my newfound strategy a try!