I’m driving through that part of town where the students are; the smelly part where they build their nests and they congregate around pool tables. As it happens, I’m on the way to the university to speak to some student-hatchlings who are hoping to develop into something as disgusting as the students that live in this section of the town. You’d think their parents would know better.
Shit – one nearly hit me! Zooming around in a typical student car, probably with a carpeted interior designed by one of the local fast food outlets. Daddy’s cash and some falsely acquired exam scores probably played a part in the acquisition of such a vehicle. She hasn’t even looked back to see if I’m okay, either on the inside or the out – I doubt she cares.
I was a student once (keep that between us) but I was cured, eventually. They give you a piece of paper and a photograph to show the authorities and your employer that you’re not contagious anymore.
Christ – another nearly hit me, but this time it was on a bike. A bike! The poor creature can’t even navigate its habitat well enough to find a car. As it wheels away, I imagine the tortilla chip residue it probably has in its socks, and how many times it must have tried to mate with other students. But let’s face it – if it can’t manage to clear itself of tortilla debris, never mind acquire a car, then it has no chance of winning mating rights with a female.
I think I hate them, students. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s the superiority of my species and the fact that we are – wait a second…
I’m lost. Great. Nothing here looks familiar and as the blind panic of knowing you’re lost sinks in, a horror dawns on me – I’m going to need help.
I stop near a small shuffle of students (shuffle, alongside swarm, huddle and crawl are the correct collective nouns for students, depending on their numbers) to ask for directions. Luckily the student which has claimed dominance over this particular shuffle is fluent in English, and gives me concise directions with which I make my way safely to the university.
Bloody know-it-all students. I hate them.