Cool Story, Bro(gue)

While out with a girlfriend, we were discussing why people usually don't approach me if they don't know me particularly well.  Her explanation was that I have a lovable, if rather prickly exterior, and with that I'd have to agree.  I have a pretty fiery inner dialogue that doesn't come out, or else I'd be shipped off in a white jacket.  But for entertainment purposes, I thought it might amuse you if I talked about my inner workings, starting now:

This semester, as I've mentioned, I decided to take Chinese level 1.  Now, before anyone asks, "Wait.  I thought you WERE Chinese," let me explain.  I'm a second gen Chinese-American, first one on both sides of my family tree to be born in the states (woo!)  When I was a wee girl, I had a toddler's grasp of the language, but that all changed on my first day of preschool.  I like to think that I was a pretty chipper 4-year-old, so when I met my teacher, I greeted her.  In Chinese.

The exchange may or may not have gone something like this:

Despite some contrary belief, English was my first language.

My teacher, not 5 seconds after meeting me, was concerned with my ability to interact with the other children.  She asked my mother if I spoke any English, to which, I sincerely hope my mother face-palmed.  Anyway, the end result was that my parents suggested to me that I only speak in Chinese at home.

Me, being the impressionable, stupid child I was, took this as, "NO MORE CHINESE." 

So I more or less grew up not learning the language.  I knew some words, but I couldn't carry a conversation.  If you've heard people speaking in Mandarin, you know it can have some harsh tones that make it seem like people are constantly angry.  So... you can imagine that dinners at home were occasionally awkward.

 

Anyway.  When I came to college, I was dead determined to take at least one Chinese course.  For 3 years, it never fit in my schedule (level 1-3 courses here meet 5 days a week - a bit hard to work around engineering cores).  This year, I finally managed, and I've been enjoying it very much... 

...All except for this tool bag and a half:

Divided face brought to you by South Park/Pac Man

I have a pretty low tolerance for time-wasters, so this kid ranks high on my list as people I would not mind disappearing.  He's unnaturally loud, reads through dialogues - rushed and forceful, gives constant unrelated answers, and has a voice reminiscent of nails down a chalkboard.

For awhile, I tried to zen-out when he talked and just let his words dissipate in the background.  That didn't work well.  Actually, the unfortunate result was that my mind started turning toward less helpful scenarios, ranging from the slightly violent...

 

...to the snappy.  I found myself wishing I could say things like, "Hey.  How about you give us all an early Christmas present and SHUT UP."

I usually just sit in my chair and break pencil lead, though.

But I got tired of blowing through graphite, and was starting to feel bad about how much I let this kid get on my nerves.  Yesterday, I started wondering if I'd be half so annoyed if his voice were just a little less irritating.  In fact, what if he had an accent like... oh... I don't know, a Scottish brogue.  Would that be any better?

You know.  Something more like this:

Apologies to David Tennant for being such a shitty artist.

So what happens when you supplant a pest for something a little more pleasant?

Problem solved.

Until the next.