Social-NOT-Studies
| Posted in Fiction, finals, Geography, Music, Study, tenth grade | Posted on 2:36 PM
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Me and social studies, we go way back. From the tender age of ten I was forced to study the subject, and to say I dreaded the whole idea of it would be too much of an understatement. The entire humanities fraternity of my school despised me by the time I reached the tenth grade. Once in geography class I'd written a poem called 'Geography Class' that clearly expressed, in a rather poetic manner, why I didn't care about different types of soil or low quality coal. The poem made me quite popular amongst my peers, and I enjoyed the sporadic burst of popularity till a friend of mine submitted a copy of it to my geography teacher. When asked about the poem by her, I could just give her an unperturbed look and say, 'I think it's decent enough'. She didn't agree of course, and the blank stare she gave me afterwards has since been the cause of many a frightening nightmares. And it was even more so, because our geography teacher spoke in a monotone; and I believed that dead horses could express themselves better.
I got kicked out of science and was thrown into commerce later, but that's a different issue altogether. One of my good friends in the humanities stream once told me that I was an ignorant, disrespectful prick. I should've thanked her for the tip, because over the years I discovered that I was arrogant, self-obsessed and self-centered in addition to being eccentric. And oh, thankless too.
Anyway, right around the end of the tenth grade, I'd gotten really excited because I realized I wouldn't have to study social studies for the rest of my life. But at that point, the final exams weren't yet taken care of, so I had to study social studies one last time. "It's the last social studies test you'll ever take," one of my more bothered friends had said to me, "Why not give it the respect it deserves?" And to that I said, "It's the last test right? Why care about it at all?" Proudly at that.
Social studies had never been my forte, and we had 12 elaborate chapters in our syllabus. That meant endless hours in a room isolated from the rest of the world. My mom used to check in on me pretty often while I was studying, and she learnt it the hard way, why it wasn't such a great idea to allow her teenage son to study with an mp3 player in his vicinity. Based on what I was told by my mother, regarding her experiences of checking in, I was either:
a)Sleeping with the lights on - That meant I was either too lazy to switch the light off or that I was too exhausted after my attempts to study a subject that I felt was too dull and boring. I think it was the latter, because the switch was right next to my bed.
b)Sleeping with the light off - That meant I didn't care enough about studying at that time and I had an adequate amount of energy required to switch the light off. Of course, the energy I wasted by doing that I regained by sleeping.
c)Head-banging to music (position of light switch unknown) - That meant.. wait, what did that mean? I guess it meant...
Hard Rock/Punk Rock/Psychedelic Rock > Igneous Rock/Metamorphic Rock/Sedimentary Rock
Come to think of it, my mother even probably cursed herself for buying a bed.
X-x-X
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author honestly wishes none of whatever he's written ever happens to him. The views expressed are solely of the author. He would undoubtedly regret it if he has wound up hurting the feelings of any humanities students and would really appreciate it if they put down their katanas and bazookas and call off the murderers hired to kill him. And if they didn't have any such plans in the first place, he's even more thankful.
