Mind Your Own Business, Douchebag.

For weeks, since I started this fucking narcissistic rant, The Opiate, I’ve debated how ugly and grossly vain this shit seems to me at times. By the way, I love placing the words this and shit together. Pay attention, you’ll see A.D.D. at its best. Anyway, however dull and diluted and redundant and fucking lame it may be, as long as I have to deal with or witness bullshit in a public atmosphere, I will continue to reflect publicly. As long as I have to round a corner in the grocery store and see a gnawed tit popped into an infant’s mouth, I’ll piss and moan to this screen all night. As long as I have to see a man carry food stamp groceries to his fucking jacked up, gas guzzling 4X4 with the rebel flag decal after seeing his welfare healthcare insurance card while I debate daily on blowing this fucking chronic headache out of my head with a twelve gauge, I’ll sit here and piss and moan in a way that makes me laugh. I’ll find a purpose beyond the vanity of a public profile to assuage my feelings of coddled internet attention—the proverbial tit of my regressive social angst.

By the way, fuckface, you live in upstate New York, at least move to Delaware if you want to claim that South will rise again bullshit set.

Recently I was recruited for an administrative position which requires social networking as the basis for development and progress of a certain academic organization. The ambiguity here is intentional. The duties of this new position are in addition to the teaching responsibilities I already hold. The job requires that I meet with several individuals over the course of the school year. So, I put the most of my office hours to use. While there are no specific duties prescribed to office hours, it is required that instructors meet with students during that time if needed. Since no students were in my visitation at the time, I decided to utilize my campus time to apply some research for this new position I had acquired via Facebook. Face and names. Face and names.

I say, “Excuse me,” if I disrupt your space even for a moment, I bless people when they sneeze even though my ecclesiastical views are, eh, but most importantly, I mind my own fucking business. After committing the faces of people I have future appointments with to memory, I noticed that the woman next to me was staring at my screen. I ignored it. When I opened a message in my inbox, read it, and began to reply, I noticed the woman mouthing the words I was writing. When I wrote, in bold print, MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS, the woman looked away  and muttered something incoherent (last toe? brass pole? asshole?).

I stopped typing and returned to my homepage. When a student walked into the office, I began the process of logging out. I had logged out of my school email account, Facebook, and off the computer by the time the student made her way to me. I was grabbing my bag and standing when the woman next to me said to the student, “I don’t know if you should bother him now, he’s on his Facebook.”

I dismissed the comment, and sat with my student who expressed concerns that I made her leave class to retrieve her book for a class assignment. During the conversation with the student, this woman proceeded to rant about the use of Facebook targeting her litany at me while I was trying to explain to the student that class work dictates the use of the text and failure to bring the text to class eliminates the purpose of the lesson.

While I appreciate the administrative concern this adjunct professor hailed from her broken swivel chair, acknowledgment should be given to the task at hand, which was the concern of the student, not the arbitrary vocalization of bullshit spewing from the anus of this woman’s head. If it is truly a concern that my students receive the administrative comfort required of their professors, then save the diatribe for the suggestion box or at the very least, shut the fuck up while I communicate with the student and voice your concern after.

Is it really that difficult not to be a fucking douchebag?

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