Dream a Little Dream of Humanties

I’ve never told anyone this before, but I can’t keep it bottled up any longer. Sometimes, while sitting in my higher math class taking careful notes on the insane ramblings of the wild crazy bearded man at the front of the class, I close my eyes and escape into a world of fantasy. That’s right, I indulge in a perfect fantasy, full of sex, leisure, and a 3-1 ratio of women to men. In my fantasy, I am a Humanities major…

Every day, I get up at noon, grab a pair of sandals, and trot to Wheeler for another great day of humanities discussion. I don’t bring a notebook, or a pen, or even a watch GAA I’m not learning anything anyway! Though I arrive twenty minutes late, I’m still the first one there. Everyone else in my class is an attractive female, most with full heads of hair. After extinguishing all our cigarettes, we sit in a circle around Jessie, our sensitive, caring GSI with long eyelashes and three nose studs. We always start out by discussing the previous night’s episode of Buffy, then gradually move on to a lively discussion about the phallic hege-mony of doom. The women all fawn over me – they want me because I have passion, and by “passion” I mean “weed.” I speak up whenever I want GAA no need to raise my hand, or wait to be called on. I have to because I’m being graded on participation instead of actual knowledge. Every “discussion” follows this familiar, comforting pattern:

Jessie: “Okay class, it’s time we talk about something other than the tyranny of Eurocentric thinking. I was wondering if anyone could tell me [Question about mutually unread text]?”

Anti-social girl with dyed-black hair: “[Inflammatory comment with conspicuous reference to Freud]”

Liberated Asian girl with henna tattoo: “[Rebuttal, lifted directly from Feminine Mystique].”

Me: “[Incredibly witty comment, tying together both Finnegan’s Wake and Aristotle’s definition of the tragic hero].” (Uproarous laugh-ter from classmates)

Short-haired bi-curious girl in Pixies t-shirt: “I am impressed by your intellect and ability to breathe. Let’s have sex.”

Anti-social girl: “If you want a real woman, call me.”

Liberated Asian girl: “No, me!”

Jessie: “Since we only have five minutes left, maybe we should perhaps discuss the text again. That is, if you guys don’t mind.”

Me: “Well, I had this interpre-tation: [Overblown allegory re-lating the main character to Christ].”

Jessie: “Again, you’ve hit the nail on the head. And speaking of head, you got some last night because you’re a humanities major who wears black turtlenecks, right?”

And we all laugh and laugh because we can be open about sexuality in Wheeler, especially Wheeler Auditorium.

That’s usually when the weight of the enormous math textbook on my thigh jars me awake. Then the BO of the engineer to my left hits me like Mike Tyson at the Miss Universe pagaent and I snap back into reality. I really wish they didn’t put my hand into a bowl of warm water every time I fall asleep…