Yesterday was odd.
I walked into Spanish class at nine, a few minutes before the arrival of out professor, and one particularly savory character [ahem] --who I'll call student no. 1-- was tricking very-shy-devotee-of-Christian-screamo, student no. 2, into reading aloud various terms and phrases with very sexual subject matter in Spanish. Because he was reading them aloud, student no. 2 was a little slower to translate the phrases of the rest of us.
Or maybe everyone in the class wasn't picking up as quickly as I was, aside from the girl who sits next to me, who shares many of my values and is super great at everything foreign languages and humanities. We made faces at each other and ducked. I say that not everyone must have gotten it, because next, hipster-missions-freak-skinny-jeans-and-beanie-slash-never-speaks-a-word student no. 3 walked over, along with still-oblivious student no. 2, to read the Spanish document from over student no. 1's shoulder.
It got more awkward when student no. 1 started reading the translations aloud in English.
So there he was, shouting obcene phrases across the Spanish classroom and there I was, a girl [and it's impossible to run from that fact when he's shrieking all this out with a lot of laughter], embarrassed that he's even saying these things out loud. I'm going to stop talking about him right now.
Students 2 and 3 blush and dash back to their seats. Keep in mind, these are both incredibly quiet boys [I've wondered if no. 3 knows how to talk before], but I also happen to know that they have their own standards.
"We didn't need to hear that, Alex," they say.
Wow. Count, everybody. HOW MANY words was that? Seven, if you count the didn't contraction as one word. I was proud of them. That was impressive.
I honestly would have preferred it if someone would have punched him, but you take what you can get. I would have done it myself except that I didn't really want to touch him. He was so flamboyant, so casual, so confident. And my professor walked in.
Weird incident the second: in Chem lab, one student told me he thought I was 25. Twenty five? As in, years old? This is odd for two reasons: a] that's seven years older than I am and b] that's four years older than he is.
Weird incident the third: as I was walking toward the shuttle to take me home, an elderly Korean man brushed past me, saying out loud, "Beautiful." Odd. Just... odd.
Weird incident the fourth: I went to a movie with some chums. A delightful miscommunication ensued in which I spent a quarter-tank of gas needlessly driving to friends' house needlessly. Then turned around and drove to the theatre in a seperate car [which wasn't as fun, obviously] because someone didn't have room in their car? And someone didn't want someone to drive in the back seat? And the movie was at 10pm. And ended late. I'm trashed and still confused.
So anyway. Yesterday was odd.
But going back to weird incident the first, and thus the main point of this post:
I'm so glad there are boys who know how to blush. And I'm so glad that they're not just among my friends. I'm so glad that they're to be found at community college as well.