Dear Geology Major . . .

who sits in front of me in my geology class:

Your swiveling classroom seat is not an easy chair or a lounge chair or your living room sofa. You are sitting in class, not in front of the TV. The professor's lecture may be boring, but I bet if you really try, you can drum up a bit of enthusiasm for understanding how the systems that make up our atmosphere work. When you slide your butt down in your chair, stretch your long legs out in front of you, and reach back with your arms as if you are participating in some crafty new-age yoga pose, your hands end up about two inches in front of my nose. I could casually reach over with my pencil and poke you in the top of the head. In other words, you are seriously invading my personal space.

I have refrained from doing so thus far, out of kindness to your kind in general (i.e. young, silly undergraduates) and because I enjoy watching the professor get astonished at your overall stretchiness and flexibility in the middle of a classroom lecture. But my patience is nearing an end. If you feel a poke on the top of your prematurely balding head, or if the backwards-pointing brim of your baseball cap gets knocked down any further than it already is, you'll know it's me.

Signed,

Old Lady Who Sits Behind You In Class