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To You Over There

Hey, you. Yeah, you. You know who I'm talking about. The guy sitting a couple tables away from me, wearing your Beats and your salmon shorts. Sitting there, all smug. Looking at your MacBook and laughing to yourself. Every now and then looking up, making awkward eye contact, and then looking back down. I bet you think you're so great. You're pretending to write an essay titled "The Complex Socio-Political Implications of Modern Basketball", or reading about how "Stanley Milgram was a bad dude", or doing whatever the fuck kinesiology students do. All the while, you're actually talking with your bros about that sick party you're going to, or scrolling through your exes’ Instagram accounts and writing mean comments, or thinking about your new big idea for a startup. You know what, I'm not going to put up with this anymore. I'm going to stand up and show you what's what. People like you think they can just sit in the Ugli, minding their own business, pissing me off while I'm trying to mind my own business. Well, today's your lucky fucking day. I'm about to teach you a lesson. A real good lesson. A college-worthy, liberal arts-educated, $50,000+ of debt lesson. That's right, you son of a bitch. I'm gonna show you once and for all that you can't fucking laugh at your computer screen like you own the place. By the time I'm done with you, you won't know the difference between a Canada Goose and a North Face. I hope you're fucking prepared. I hope you told your mother you love her when she called you yesterday. I hope you crooned soft, sweet nothings into her ears. I hope she told you what a great son you are, because you're gonna need all the love and support you can get when I'm done with you. Your feeble mind couldn't even begin to fathom the machinations running through my mind over the lesson that I'm about to teach you. Hell, I bet all you could do is laugh. You're probably reading this and laughing right now. You think I'm funny, do you? You think this is all a fucking joke? I'll show you a funny joke. The kind of joke that makes you laugh so hard your face hurts, that makes you laugh so hard you get side cramps and chest cramps and back cramps. The kind of joke that would've made you pee yourself in the 4th grade. But you swear you don't do that anymore. You swear that you wouldn't even think of bolting your door, opening YouTube, typing in "funniest vines of 2016", and laughing until piss runs down both your legs. But your roommate knows. Your roommate smelled the piss, and one day, he checked. Of course, he immediately regretted it. He would never admit to intentionally smelling another guy's piss pants. But he knows. And I know. I fucking know. I'm gonna tell the whole world about your collection of piss pants, and then we'll see who laughs until his trousers can sustain no more abuse. I bet you're quaking in your Converses right now. You're fucking terrified that the whole world will find out about your piss pants. Your mom would be heartbroken. You told her that you had stopped that—that that was just a phase. But you knew it wasn't. You knew that deep down, as soon as you got to college, you would start your collection of piss pants all over again. And now the cat is out of the bag. The beans have been spilled. The shit has hit the fan, you son of a bitch. Now we'll see who can silently stare at their computer screen, smiling at dumb inside jokes and Facebook posts from people he never talks to. We'll see who can occasionally look up at strangers, make awkward eye contact, and look back down. From now on, you will tremble in fear in my presence. The mere sight of me will cause Parkinsonian tremors to ravage your body. Hell, maybe you'll even add to your collection of piss pants. And when you do, I hope it reminds you of me. Bon voyage, motherfucker.

Written by Den Braniels

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