Wednesday, August 31, 2011

Your Face/Voice Makes Me Want to Kill Something. Preferably You.

Some people just get on my nerves. It could be that their face just makes my brain think, "I HATE YOU FOR NO DISCERNIBLE REASON," or it could be that their voice makes me think, "IF YOU KEEP TALKING I WILL STAB YOU IN THE FACE WITH SPORKS UNTIL YOU DIE." Whatever the reason, some people just shouldn't be around me for their own safety. After all, you can find a spork pretty much anywhere.

One boy in my chemistry class junior year was a prime example of the first reason for immediate, uncontrollable hatred and rage. It's not that he was ugly, or had a lazy eye, or anything distinctly hate-able about his face. But every time I looked at this kid's face, I wanted to a) scream, b) stab him in the face with sporks, c) look away and sneer condescendingly, or d) all of the above. His name was Brandon, but he got on my nerves so much that I decided to call him Beatrice. As a fairly insecure male, he felt emasculated by this, even though he should have been honored. Ten points to Slytherin.

Eventually, his personality proved to be just as irritating. Even though I said horrid things to him that probably shouldn't be said to anyone for fear of making them suicidal, he insisted on speaking to me. He also insisted on trying to hit on me. No matter how many times I told him that he was beneath my notice and I had no desire to date a girl, he KEPT. ON. ASKING.

Thankfully, the class ended and I never had to see him again. I've heard, though, that a variety of other people also call him Beatrice, and that when called such, he twitches. Perhaps I've given him a psychological disorder. That would make me feel really accomplished. Plus, after I finish this introductory psychology course, I'll be able to cure him.

The epitome of the second reason for homicidal tendencies can be found in Jennifer. She went to my high school, and GUESS WHAT? She's also in my introductory psych class. Every time she opens her mouth (which is approximately every .0000001 seconds), I get the urge to find a spork. Or a flame thrower. Or a rabid dog. Or all three. Possibly a hybrid.

In high school, she wasn't popular. At all. People would form a blockade in the hallway just to stop her from going to class, or trip her, or snicker meanly behind her back. I felt bad for her. No one deserves that, I thought. And then I met her. She wouldn't shut up.  With a voice like hers, all you want to do is pull your own ears off just to make it stop. Jennifer kind of sounds like a French person with a severe speech impediment and no knowledge of how loud she is or how much her voice makes people want to murder her. To make things just so much more fun, she's also one of those people who has to comment on EVERYTHING.

So the moral of the story: if you have a face that makes people hate you upon sight, or your voice makes baby birds and fairies die upon you opening your mouth, STAY AWAY FROM ME. I cannot be held responsible for what I do or say.