Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else

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Stan Has a Stalker and For Once That's Not Me

According to the very meticulously collected data, Stan and I have a stalker problem. Historically, our stalkers included our significant others or people who thought they were our significant others. But recently, they include our ex-students, which we can only attribute to our charming personalities and good looks. Why must I be so vain? Because by association with the class we have taught, people hate us. Our class, Advanced Physical Chemistry.... let's just be honest here, nobody of a sound mind and body can truly enjoy it. Or be good at. It was the seventh ring of hell for them. A required ring.

We had this student there who seemed extremely excited about the subject and in her eyes she was friends with us (we gave no shit, but were nice to people who actually tried learning). Sure, the fact she was madly obviously in love with Stan probably increased her enthusiasm. Sure, she pretended to like me, but mostly because she wanted to impress Stan with good grades, maybe get some information about him. But anytime Stan and I taught the class (we taught it together), she would hatefully glare at me. Stan and I could care less about this, since at that time we had our own demons to fight � we were obsessed with each other and when we taught, we radiated with sexual tension (and students noticed). We were more than happy when our boss decided to put us on Research Assistanship since he believed we were too valuable to waste our time teaching ones who don't want to be taught. And we couldn't agree more.

But that was not the end. She started looking for a group to do Undergrad Research with. But that was after she started spending loads of time hovering in our hallway twenty times (I wish I was making this up) hoping Stan would come out. Our Boss aware of this problem, said no to the young bright student. After all, we already had one Undergrad Student.

I once made the mistake of speaking to her. It basically went down like this:
Me: Why the fuck are you walking fifty times a day through this hallway?¹ I smile sweetly.
Her: Because it's on my way to my lab. She smiles back.
Me: No, it's not. I grin.
Her: Well, if it bothers you so much, maybe you should change your office. She smiles pleasently.
I smack the bitch (in my head), how dares this little child tell ME, her elder (only by 4 years) to change MY office.

Then there was the more recent incident at Starbucks. The coffee trips Stan and I take are sacred. Those are our moments where we bitch about shit, or just walk silently and bitch in our heads. If anyone intrudes... Eitherway, she ambushed us there, or rather Stan. Cornered the poor man and with her obnoxiously pleasant smile talked a mile a minute. When I came with my intricate drink, she ignored my existance which allowed me to make vomiting motions². Once we started going back to work, she followed us. It was the most awkward walk. Her walking along us in silence. In silence. I almost lost it.
Me: Since no one is contributing here, I will start talking, and I will talk about the most obnoxious subject I can possibly think of. And I will discuss it in the most gruesome detail possible. So let me tell you a story of how I saw a seagull drown.� And I recounted in the most painfully detailed story, of the poor seagull's demise. Stan knew what I was doing, so he entertained my stupid story. He asked questions and asked to elaborate on certain unclear parts of my recollection. Anything was better than acknowledging the fact the girl was walking along with us.

Unfortunately, she still hovers around our space, stopping us at every bathroom outting. Following us to lunches (from safe distance). Chatting us up (and our undergrad) about the possibility of joining our group (dream on!). We change routes, we change schedules, and somehow she always knows... she always knows.

12:32 a.m. - May 17, 2011

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