My Teacher, The Terrorist

If I could leave my unborn children and grandchildren with a piece of advice, it would be to tell them not to waste money studying at a university. I’m not even kidding. Universities are just money hogging institutions and because I have lived through it, I couldn’t let my offspring bare the same pain as I did.

After going through hell and back, I started university this September. Finally. You don’t know how much I was looking forward to sitting on stiff chairs in an ill-maintained classroom while the teachers continue to talk until my ears bled out. Also, to meeting new people who I could potentially troll in the upcoming semesters.

It’s like all my dreams have come true.

The people in my class fall under three main categories. Category A type includes boys, all of whom haven’t gone through or are just beginning to go through puberty. Every now and then, they say something lame, meant to earn them a round of laughter, in a pathetic attempt to make themselves more like able appealing. Sadly (or not) it is only an attempt and a failed one at that. The rest of the class is also stupid enough to laugh at the lame jokes. I don’t know whether it’s sympathy. Or it is their idea of a good joke. And you should see the girls, gushing over such jokes. It’s a nightmare.

Category B are the helplessly  “cool” students who are also my potential targets this semester. All the students have so much swag but these two are just the epitome of coolness. Talpur, who’s a slightly chubby girl , proudly flaunts that she is actually the director of her own company. I can’t imagine the amount of hard work she must have put in just to ask her dad and uncles to make her one of the five directors running the company. She’s really the one to watch. I mean, damn.

Next up is this girl with two people living inside of her. At best, she has a personality disorder. Outside of classroom, she’s all “Heeeeeeyyy guuuurrrlllfffrriieennd” with her guuurrllffrriieenndss. Inside, she’s very quiet and sits at the back not uttering a word during the entire class. Also, she wears too much kohl. She maybe the lovechild of Billy Joel and Taylor Swift. So I call her Tilly. Or Toel.

I also call a guy Mustafa, because he resembles a Mustafa I know. His real name is something else.

Category C comprises of the burka clad girls, who can be found in large majorities. They are usually sweet and nice, never too outspoken or too in your face. I guess they are not that bad. Except when they flirt with our macro economics teacher and he actually giggles back.

The teachers aren’t any better. Most of them anyway.

We are taught psychology by this tall, lean lady who has done her bachelors in sociology. I know nothing about psychology so far. I know, however, that her mother is a very friendly, open person, that her father is strict because of the difficulties he had to face when he was young. That her niece is very misbehaved despite studying at a good school and her nephew eats like a pig. Which she blames on the teaching of the school, not the environment at home where he spends more than half his time. Based on a thesis she conducted of schools in Clifton, she also thinks all Olevel and A level students use dirty slang when talking to their friends and family. That they are ill mannered and treat everyone like their bitch.

First off, surveys for the thesis were filled by kids. I have read sociology too, you know. Surveys were not considered such a reliable source of data. How can we be sure they didn’t put the wrong answers on purpose? But because she conducted a thesis over it, she must be right!

It’s not just her. Glossy-hair-guy is even less professional, commenting and telling us personal thoughts and opinions. Like, hello? It’s a fucking classroom. We’re here to study, remember?

Then randomly he also mentioned how he was talking to his wife the other day and said that if his daughter was to wear jeans when she grew up, he would actually, really, physically break her legs.
Imagine my feelings and reaction when I was right there, in the front row, wearing jeans. I felt like he was a terrorist who might shoot me any moment.

Such is the world I live in, my fellow bloggers. All in all, I’m not surprised. Their decadent state and lameness and stupidness is what keeps me alive and happy, even when I’m having a low day. Can’t wait till i get to troll these bitches.

How was your university life like? Are you still paying off your loans? Why are people attending a university so fucking screwed up? Share your university experience!

Zareen Naqvi

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11 comments

  1. Your classroom mix sounds like ‘fun’ – do blog about them as it will indeed make hilarious reading 😀

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    1. That’s a great idea. I will- soon enough 🙂

      Like

  2. I’m glad to hear it’s going well… *serious face*

    I guess uni isn’t a uni without the slightly unhinged tutors and students! That’s what makes it fun, right? :-/

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    1. Lol
      Yes, I am looking forward to all the “fun”. 😀

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  3. ACK — that’s a pretty ridiculous penalty for wearing jeans.

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    1. I know right? Bloody fools!

      Liked by 1 person

  4. ugh, gurl, I feel ya. It’s awful when professors use the classroom as a platform for all their beliefs and opinions. Seriously….it’s like shut up already! And I love your categories of students…hahahaha so true. (and yes, still paying off loans 12 years later.)

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    1. In a way, I enjoy it because they are just SO ridiculous. Like, it’s so sad it’s actually funny. But yes, the teachers are offending. And dumb. I have had better teachers so I know that I’m not getting my money’s worth.
      Oh 😦 sorry to hear that but thanks for the heads up!

      Like

  5. Amazingly written! Your words remind of my freshman year at the university. I always felt for myself, how bogus those teachers are!

    Like

    1. Oh thank you Aman. You’re always full of compliments for me. Thank you!
      I’m kind of glad I’m not the only one 😉

      Liked by 1 person

  6. […] They might conjure up a plan and have me abducted. Or killed. I’m not exaggerating. It’s a definite possibility. Remember the teacher who wanted to break his daughter’s leg for wearing jeans? […]

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