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TA Encounters of the Awkward Kind
theblacksheeponline.com
Rob Mogni wrote this You dread it. We dread it. They dread it. You know the situation: Chipotle, Friday night, 7p.m. After impatiently checking your phone for the sixth time for a distracting text message that will never come, you make the fateful decision to let your ADHD get the better of you. As you inspect the odd interior design of this fine eating establishment, you have just discovered the worst possible thing ever. Your history TA—the one whose approval you seek so desperately because discussion disproportionately counts for 50% of your grade—appears just two places behind you in line. Dammit, had you only reassured yourself that Qdoba’s convenience trumps quality any day! Don’t assume that he didn’t notice the nano-second’s worth of eye contact: it’s time to ask yourself: What the hell do I do now?! The Nod: This social convention manifests itself in a colorful variety of forms. Some have mastered it better than others, but no amount of adroitness can overcome the nervous twitch that seizes your body and causes you to make a violently spastic nod, an absurdly sudden motion that is only appropriate when taking an uppercut to the jaw. To be honest, your little paroxysm caught the attention of everyone within a mile radius. It’s best to pretend that you were doing this new yoga move to crack your neck. Your TA obviously notices you at this point, but nothing indicates your self-induced whiplash was directed at him.
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The Sup: Perhaps a better approach would be to wait until you are awkwardly close at the register and just so happen to look up at him and give a real man’s “Sup?” right to his face. The problem is your vocal cords have been constricted for the past half hour waiting in line so your manly “Sup?” becomes a pre-pubescent hiccup. The best thing to do is to pretend nothing happened, ignore the awkward stare of the cashier, and walk away before your TA realizes that you were ever attempting to communicate with him. The Wimp: You have learned a lot from countless years of avoiding various charity drives and awareness campaigns that have unendingly separated you from your next class. You know the drill, and your playbook is chock-full of golden techniques for aspiring hermits. Text your mom, slip on the sunglasses, pretend to zone out on the abnormally industrial interior of Chipotle. Anything will suffice. No awkward conversation with any figures of authority will get between you and that burrito. The Man: You know it’s in you somewhere. Maybe it was some re-runs of House or last week’s Boardwalk Empire, but something has recently led you to believe this crazy conception that you are The Man. With a sudden “carpe diem” conviction, you pivot like Kobe, turn toward your TA, open your lungs to shoot out a wildly inappropriate
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By the time you finally get to the line, the burrito guy has no time for you to decide between white or wheat. His manager is in the back giving him the stink-eye; he’s not about to allow you to ruin their rush-hour profits. After wasting all of this energy trying to avoid your TA for a damn burrito, the Chipotle guy will not stand for your indecisiveness and kicks you out. Should’ve gone to Qdoba.
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greeting, and . . . yeah, you just said that. You just told your TA . . . that?! With your . . . what?! In his . . . you went too far, old boy. In the end, it didn’t matter much. Halloweekend has set you back a month’s reading. Failure was your destiny.
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