This Is How It Goes

Chapter Sixteen: A Light Jab

Subject I most regret taking? Intro to Film and Television Studies. You know why? Come on, work for it. Think about it. I won’t let you have it that easy. Why does anyone regret a subject that essentially requires them to watch movies and give their opinion on them? It’s on the tip of your tongue, I know it is.

The teacher. The teacher is always the reason a pupil hates a class. Because a good teacher can make you like a bad class and a bad teacher can make you loathe a great class. Watson (the wanker) is the sole reason why I hate Intro to Film and TV. He is slimy, in a prim and proper sort of way. I bet he watches weird porn. He’s the type. None of this has anything to do with his teaching, I suppose. But I can’t get past the way he smells of cheap deodorant and car fuel. It lingers, sticking to the walls and the insides of my nostrils.

In class on Monday I have trouble concentrating because of how much I already despise him.

I tried breathing in deeply, calming the irritation flaring inside of me. But he continued to act like an asshole and I couldn’t tune it out. So I indulged. I let myself revel in my hatred of this short, slightly stocky guy that is barely a man.

Watson the Wanker seems to like nothing more than staring at boobs. As we discuss The Mood Indigo as a class I catch him looking at every girl in the room’s cleavage, he lingers on mine more than others. I am wearing a low cut t-shirt but that’s no excuse. I know it’s hard for boys not to notice our breasts. On occasion us girls have trouble taking our eyes away from their y’know, dinkly doo, and wondering what it looks like underneath the fabric covering it. But we do our best to respect them and look at their faces not their most private of places. Maybe if a guy’s crotch were higher up we’d have more trouble, but a part of me thinks not. Boys have been taught that they are powerless to their bodies. Girls are told not to wear revealing clothing because heaven forbid some crusty little sixteen year old might grow a hard on. We have to protect these boys from our bodies, hide them from the world. Boobs are a surprise for men. Not an asset women can readily show off whenever the hell they want. Because let’s face it, a man’s interest is always top priority. Well fuck you boys, I’m going to flaunt my fatatas and you can grow one below for all I care. Because newsflash, a boner won’t kill you. Just think of your gran naked and banish that beast. If girls can cope with bleeding from their vagina you can deal with a boner or two.

Watson doesn’t seem to understand that my boobs are not on display for him but myself, because whenever I offer something to the discussion he looks straight at them and not at me. I could slap him. But I’m paying a lot of money for my education and I know who would come out winning if he took it to the school board. So I put up with his ogling and plan on teaching him a lesson once I graduate.

He’s young for a professor, only twenty seven I’d say. He always wears these god awful suit jackets and his pants are too tight. He sweats constantly and drinks too much tea. And his hair is already starting to say sayonara. And yet he has the gall to say hello to my chest. Oh you poor ugly bastard, I’d never touch you.

“What do you guys think made the film resonate so strongly with you? Was it the changing in colours?” Watson broaches.

A Greek looking girl with the coolest scarf I’ve ever seen answers, “I think it was the fact that the colours collided with the grief. And everyone can relate to losing someone.”

“It was in French.” Says a guy with bad teeth, speaking up for the first time since class has been going on for the last three weeks. “Everyone thinks a film is better, ‘resonates’ stronger when it’s in another language. Makes them feel smarter.”

Watson opens and closes his mouth like a fish, I can’t help but laugh a little. He’s right. I know I feel more at ease mentioning a film in class if it’s foreign. Not because it was particularly good but because I know people will assume it is.