Trust

What a terrible night.

I had one of my graduate school classes tonight and successfully held in tears for almost three hours. For someone hyper-sensitive like me, this was no small feat.

I am always hesitant to speak in class because I have a big fear of being embarrassed or looking stupid. I just try to do a great job on presentations, papers, etc. and hope that outweighs me not contributing too much to class discussion. So far, so good.

Well, tonight I took a chance. Answered a question. The professor said, "What do the following things have in common: the fact that more people get their news from the internet than from a newspaper, the fact that more women are unmarried than married in the U.S. and the fact that more government entities are contracting out work?"

I actually thought I had the answer. And as I raised my hand, he said, "Of course, absolutely nothing."

Crap. It was too late. I was stuck. And so, I had to answer.

"Well, I believe that the issue that is the same with all three is the fact that people are less trusting," I began. "People want their news from a variety of sources now, more people get divorced than not so people are hesitant to get married and people don't trust the government."

I thought that was pretty good. And damnit, I still stand by my answer.

Some students gave me nods in agreement, and I thought I did well. I was wrong.

"My wife has a name when I give answers like that," Professor B. said.

"B.S.?" said a jerk in my class.

I wanted to cry and slap him and everyone else that laughed.

"She calls it a 'B---geist' (a play on his name) when I say something completely illogical."

"Yeah, being married will do that to you," I tried to joke.

"Oh, you're married! It all makes sense now!" he replied.

I tried so hard to act like everything was fine. It took everything I had not to cry. I still feel like a 6-year old instead of a 26-year old sometimes. And to remind myself I am a grown-up, I doodled my age and traced over and over the number "26." I tried so hard to put my hurt into my black pen and college-ruled paper.

And so I heard hardly another word for the rest of class. I had to spend basically the entire time trying not to cry. I sat there for hours trying to make myself feel awesome. I thought about how most of the class probably goes home to empty apartments and no love life and I go home to my hot husband (who could beat all their asses). I told myself I had the best job in the class. I told myself I was the most attractive person in the class, and, of course, the best dressed.

And it helped me keep the tears inside. I had to build myself up really big because I could feel my face getting hot. I stared at my rings like they were the answers to world peace.

At the end of class, Professor B. opened up the floor to share ideas on the case we were discussing. I spent a while preparing and was so excited earlier to share my ideas because I had worked really hard on it. I didn't know if I speak again. And then I had my answer.

The stupid jerk that made fun of me earlier took another crack at me, saying something about how people should be more trusting. People laughed. The same unattractive, poor, lonely people that go home to empty apartments and Ramen Noodles every night. Or that's what I am telling myself.

And so, I decided all my hard work preparing for class would go to waste. I wouldn't be able to speak. Not tonight, maybe never again in that class.

I sat there, stone-faced. I had had it. And that jerk is in my assigned group for class. Therefore, I have to work with him again.

I am still debating whether to be ugly or nice.

Or perhaps if he tries to say something, I'll just remark that I don't trust him.

Labels: school