In the past, I’ve given a number of examples showing how students at a prestigious university—despite being super, crazy geniuses—do not always display large doses of common sense.
Today I present another of those examples.
I’d been on the desk for four hours—and was slated to be back on the desk in a little over an hour—and wanted to go grab some grub, so I headed toward the stairs and flung the door open and nailed some lady right in the back with the doorknob.
Debra Dornale: “Ahhhh SHIT!”
Cap’n Charisma: “Oh…I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
Debra Dornale: “Obviously.”
Cap’n Charisma: “I’m sorry…”
She gave me this sideways look that basically said “I’m really pissed off and debating on how much of it to take out on your scrawny, Midwestern ass.”
As such, I proceeded with caution.
Cap’n Charisma: “…are you okay?”
Debra Dornale: “No! No, I’m not okay!”
Cap’n Charisma: “. . . ”
Debra Dornale: “You’re like the third person to hit me with the door!”
I couldn’t help but stop and stare at her for a minute and wonder why on earth someone would stand in the exact same spot—right behind a f’n door—if she’d been drilled in the back more than once, seemingly in short succession.
I could tell that the last back and forth exchange between us had helped her decide that she really wanted to take it out on me.
Let’s be honest, whenever someone gets hit with something, the person asking “are you okay?” always looks like a jackass and you can’t help but feel an overwhelming urge to punch ‘em in the throat. I’ll give her that one.
…but she’d also just told me that she’d voluntarily returned to the same location, right behind a door, a frequently-used door at that, not once, but twice after getting cracked in the spine with a doorknob.
She gave me the “I’m ready to verbally tear your face off” look, to which the only logical response is another apology and a quick exit.
I wasn’t havin’ it.
Cap’n Charisma: “Well…if you’ve been hit three times, why are you still standing behind the door?”
Debra Dornale: “. . .”
Cap’n Charisma: “I’m just sayin’…doesn’t make much sense.”
Debra clearly had not anticipated me to talk back, this based on her slack-jawed face and complete lack of response. I gave it a couple of seconds and when there was none, I started to walk by her and down the stairs.
I was nearly around the landing and headed down the next flight of steps when she finally came up with a response.
Debra Dornale: “…this is where I get the best reception for texting.”
Cap’n Charisma: “…what?!”
Debra Dornale: “I get horrible reception in the dome. So THAT’S why I was standing here!”
Cap’n Charisma: “…but you could move, like, two feet so you’re not right in front of the door.”
She stared at me again, all pissy-faced and annoyed that I hadn’t just cringed and continued apologizing, but rather injected common f’n sense into the situation.
Debra wanted nothing to do with common sense.
Debra Dornale: “Pfffftttt….whatever.”
Cap’n Charisma: “…just seems stupid.”
I then walked on down the stairs and ignored whatever else Debra was mumbling under her breath.
I assume she’s still up there right now, standing behind the door and just getting jacked up by that damned doorknob every two or three minutes and acting completely shell-shocked every single time.