Once again, my manic musings carry me to the world of academia. But for a change, the focus is not on the administration. No, dear readers, once again, the focus has shifted to the quality of the students in attendance at the institution. I do believe I have met the biggest asshole in Litchfield County. Just maybe.

Not surprisingly, I met this cat in the same class as Jar Jar. For the purposes of anonymity, we’ll refer to this guy as “Tony Lemons.” We call him that because he’s always sour. From the moment this guy walked into class on the first day, he looked about as enthralled as someone who was about to get an enema with a fire hose. No, not a look of fear or fright, but one of utter disgust, as if to say, “I can’t believe I’m here.” And that look stayed transplanted on his mug for the entire trimester.

Attempts at pleasant conversation with Tony Lemons have led to brush-offs and comments of, “I don’t care, I’m done next trimester anyway.” He really doesn’t give a shit.

This came to a head for me this past Thursday. You see, thanks to the mass quantities of white shite (read: snow) we received this winter, our classes have been pushed up one week. In this particular course, our last three classes have had an hour tacked onto them in order to make up for lost time. Not the best plan, but there’s little else to be done this late in the term. So I grin and bear it. Tony Lemons, however, scowls and bitchs. A lot. “I don’t have to stay this late,” “I’m leaving at 8:00 PM, fuck staying ‘til 9:30,” and the golden boner of ‘em all, “I have an hour drive.”

Well that one prompts the question, “where do you live?” And Tony’s response is timeless: “Waterbury.”

In case you didn’t know, I live in Waterbury. And the drive is a mere 45 minutes, not an hour. It’s only an hour if you drive like your 89-year-old Aunt Bea with the bad hip and harelip. When I brought this point up, Tony said, “Well, it’s almost an hour.” In a way, he’s right, but in another, more accurate way, he’s quite wrong. 55 minutes is almost an hour. 45 minutes is 45 minutes, and an asshole is an asshole. And Tony Lemons is a huge asshole.

Further proof: I get an e-mail over the weekend from Tony Lemons regarding our next project for the class, a paper which consists of constructing a survey, having people take the survey, and then inputting the data in the computer to get some cold hard facts regarding the results. Now we learned the process in class, and granted, although it went by quickly, at least I was paying attention. Tony, on the other hand, was dicking around on AIM, sending text messages on his fancypants cell phone, and clockwatching enough to know when to hit his automatic car starter.

Now Tony wants to meet up with me so I can help him with the data entry process. I suppose since we both live in the same town, he figures we can just meet up and discuss the details while avoiding the forty-five minute drive to West Haven. I tried blowing him off by telling him that the paper isn’t due until next week (again, due to the snow), which is accurate. Moreover, I’m still fuzzy on the entire procedure myself, which warrants a trip to the professor for a cranial update. However, he’s still hell-bent on me doing his work for him instead of going to the professor himself.

Y’know, I drive to campus constantly just to get my work done early. My classes don’t start ‘til 5:30, and I’m there by 1:30 half the time. If I can do that, why can’t he? What makes him so special that he can’t brave the forty-five minute drive just to get the cold hard facts?

See, Tony Lemons is the worst type of asshole. The guy who thinks he’s above everybody else, and that you need to be of a special caliber in order to associate with him. But that’s not the reason he’s trying to get me to do his work. No, no, y’see he’s also the type of asshole who thinks he can get by in life by having those who he considers to be below him do anything he wants. This is the same guy that has the barbed wire tattoo on his ankle because he thinks he’s both tough and hip. The same guy that was on the lacrosse team in college. The same guy that could treat anyone like dirt and still pick up the hottest girl at the party for a one-night stand. The same guy that I’ve loathed all through my life.

And he wants my help? He expects me, who he hasn’t spoken two words to all semester to suddenly give him a hand?

Eh-eh.

I don’t plan on wasting my valuable time on this guy, who, contrary to his mindset, is light years below me on the evolutionary scale. And that’s not to say I have an ego, but I can realize a poor human being when I see one, and this joker is among the poorest of the poor.

Fuck thee, Tony Lemons. Thou art an asshole unworthy of my precious time. Maybe next time you won’t be so anxious to walk outta class. Say bye-bye to your GPA, ‘cause it’s heading south for the spring.

Goodnight, and have an asshole-free tomorrow.