There I sat. Positioned in a the sterile environment of the computer lab, surrounded by white-washed walls and plastic feeling tables with an obviously fake wood panel plastered on top of cheap plywood. This was the type of environment I reveled in, however. I did not detest the quiet atmosphere or the absurd amounts of "No Food or Drink" signs hung on every wall, impossible to miss by turning your head to any direction. This was a safe place to work. The mind could wander in this room. One would assume it was soundproof if they did not know that this was the only branch of the entire campus that no one walked through without first foregoing their desires for fun and noise-making.
As I was taught in my Mythology class, the Greeks had a reoccurring theme to their tragedies. Love, happiness, and perfection were always granted to the main characters until fate simply snatched it right out of their hands. It was not the right of mere mortals to possess contentment. So was the fate of my time in this quiet, harmonious safe-house.
There I sat. My fingers were busy chipping away at the keyboard in a productive and (almost) noisy fashion. At over a hundred words per minute I cranked out meaningful sentences into the word processor. I was weaving together an award winning essay. Already, the ribbons and merits were dangling on my shirt as the education board greeted its new prize student. But, as I plucked together a jaw-dropping five syllable word to tie together the second to last paragraph, it struck me.
Like a board of nails to the temple, the gluttonous cow sitting adjacent to me had ripped open a stick of gum and vociferously munched on it as if the elixir of life was hidden deep in its ether. "No, no!" I thought to my angst-ridden self, "Why now? In the time where I needed mental clarity the most, this bovine has herded herself into hearing range." Bad thoughts did not stop the noise.
"The Secret" was a very popular book in Australia at one time. It advertised that any ambition or desire could be achieved with enough thought directed at its acquisition. I was not one of those people to believe in utter bullshit, but at this time I found myself burying my head into my arms wishing that some sort of serial killer came in and shot everyone in the room but me. That a meteoroid would destroy her on a molecular level after crashing through the ceiling. Something, anything, to dispel me of this personal hell I had been gifted by the cruel gods.
It had been at least three whole minutes after the condensed stick of pink crap had been stuffed into her face and noise had not subsided. I had started to try and focus on other aspects of the room to keep myself from bashing her skull in with my keyboard. Even then, the only force holding me back was the consideration that there must be enough fat on her scalp to soften the blows enough to keep the cranium from being destroyed. So, I counted things. I counted the wrinkles on my hand. I counted the number of keys on my keyboard. I examined the scuff marks on the otherwise perfect off-white drywall surrounding me. But I had counted and examined everything and the noise persisted. I was going insane. I tried covering my ears and pressing the dangling bits into my ear canal. I could still hear the smacking through them. It sounded like this: Smack, smack, smack. But instead of just smacks, they were like planks of wood smashing my brain into a chunky gray mush that resembled baby food. It still wouldn't stop. I was going insane. If there was anything I wanted in the whole world at this point in time, it would be that fat, fat, fat woman to crash over and die.
And, as I contemplated a quick method of suicide to escape the noise in my reach, my wish came true. I heard a gasping noise and looked at the suddenly smackless void of room that the chair crusher was at. To my surprise, she was clasping her chest (at least, what I thought to be her chest) and gurgling out for help. Thanks to a mandatory class I took for community service, I knew I was witnessing a heart attack. So as the other bystanders clambered out of their chairs and dialed 911 on their cell phones, I lifted my head and wrote the final paragraph to my essay.
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I have an American education. 
