Chapter
5: Victim of Design
The
moment I walked into my humanities class, I knew I was going to have a hard
time. There was only one seat left in the back…right next to Jason. I asked the
other students if they wanted to switch seats, but they looked at me like I was
crazy. What was the deal with people being possessive over certain seats that
weren’t even assigned? I sat down in the
back and moved my chair as far away from Jason as I could, earning a smirk from
him. “Nice to see you again, wimp,” he said. “Hello to you too,” I
glowered. The teacher walked in with an
air of authority. Her hair was long and brown and she wore a navy blue business
skirt and top. Her eyes had the same arrogance as Jason’s. I was surprised her
son was sitting beside me and not up front like a special snowflake. Then
again, he had an A in this class, while I was barely holding onto a C.
“Good
afternoon,” she said. “Let’s pick up where we left off on sociological labels.”
I inwardly groaned. I hated the fact that people placed unnecessary labels on
each other based on race, sex, orientation, background etc. After taking notes
on the Civil Right’s movement and the customs of other cultures, she went on to
explain privilege and oppression. “It is everyone’s obligation to be aware of
various issues not only in our society, but all around the world. As a
privileged group, the majority of responsibility falls on the shoulders of
straight, white, men.” At that moment, Mrs. Stonewall glared at me. ‘Are you kidding me right now? I know many
people have it worse than me, but I have my own problems to deal with.’
After
a long lecture, the professor made us write rough drafts for an essay about
white privilege throughout history and how it still impacts us today. Honestly,
that long French history paper I did in high school was easier and more
entertaining than this paper. Jason’s constant pestering of me didn’t help me
concentrate.
When
class was almost over, all of us had to hand in our written drafts for Mrs.
Stonewall to grade and, as expected, she wasn’t happy with mine. “Not enough
detail about the history,” she critiqued along with “Doesn’t seem to care about
the struggles of the minorities as a white man.” How freaking ironic! A
sociology professor who is supposed to treat everyone with equal respect like
the subject entails, but instead blames me on my so called “privilege” for no
reason. I shot an angry look at Jason who was covering his mouth with his hand,
hiding giggles. The other students went back to their seats but I held my
ground at the front of the room. “Why are you criticizing me, Mrs. Stonewall? What
did I do wrong?” “Aside from not paying attention in this class,” she began,
“Jason also told me that you have been bullying him for a while.” “Your son has
made my life and the lives of other students a living hell!” I fired back. “He
even followed me and eavesdropped into my private conversation!” At this time,
my classmates had settled down and curiously watched the argument. “From what I
heard Jason say, it sounds like it was the opposite of what you were
describing.” “He is a manipulative liar who doesn’t deserve the spoiled
attention he’s getting,” I claimed. Some of the students cheered for me, while
others pretended to read their books or text on their phones. The professor
regarded me with her cold eyes, “Josh, if I were you, I would apologize to
Jason and to me for your unacceptable behavior. I would also stay after class
to work on your draft until it looks decent.” Didn’t this horrible b- witch
know that I had an English class after this? Also, there was no way was I going
to apologize to that slime bag, especially not in front of the class. I was
already embarrassed at the situation I put myself into. However, I had to stand
up for myself and any of Jason’s victims. “But…” “I will not say it again,” she
said, crossing her arms like a scolding mother.
“I
am very sorry about my behavior, professor, it will not happen again,” I said,
forcing my voice to be calm. She nodded in approval then looked to Jason.
“Forgetting someone?’ she asked me. I looked at Jason who had a goofy smile on
his face. I clenched my fists as I walked back to him. “Jason, I am really
sorry…about you being such a big fat a-hole!”
The
class erupted with laughter. Jason’s face quickly turned beet red. Before he
could react, I grabbed my backpack, disregarded my paper and made a break for
it. “You come back here at once, or you will be suspended!” called the
professor, but I was already out the door. I could hear more whoops and “oh, so
busted!” from the room, but the noises faded as I made my way down the hall.
Thankfully,
there was no one running after me as I made my way to English. During class, I
was silent the whole time, listening to the teacher drone on and on about
conjunctives and paragraph form. No one asked me questions and not even the
teacher seemed to acknowledge me. The hours went by, and we were dismissed
after what felt like forever. I walked back to my dorm room, my back slumped
like an old man.
I
watched other students texting on their phones, talking about trivial things
and heading off for meals. It would seem so easy and effortless to talk about
sports, sex, politics, and even different brands of clothing and video games
like the other guys I have encountered. From the last couple of weeks and even
today, I had gotten into the routine of doing homework, watching ads on TV and
even going to meals at certain times every day. It felt like getting caught in
a loop, only for the cycle to stop, and another one to start. Almost like my
life, like all of our lives were planned from the beginning. By who, though? The
previous generations who show disdain for the younger ones? By parents and
society who encourage and force people to get careers and behave in certain
ways, even without saying it out loud? Maybe I’m just a troublesome sheep who
decided to wonder from the rest of the herd.
Was
I overthinking again? I must have been. Was that my way from distracting myself
from my problems? Or was I making things worse? One thing for sure, I have
always felt like myself, no matter how different I seemed to others, and that
wasn’t going to change anytime soon. I unlocked my door, put my backpack down
and crashed onto my bunk bed. My anger still simmered inside me like a small
flame, but soon, exhaustion form the events of the day swept over me. Small
tears flowed from my eyes as I thought ‘Why
did fate do this to me?’
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