Taking classes at night is a whole other animal compared to my glory days of undergrad. After a long day I have no patience for students who only like to hear the sound of their voice. Perhaps that makes me the worst kind of classmate, especially after muttering, “I kill you” when one of my peers asks his eighth non-question.
Nighttime lecture-hall manners are kind of an anomaly: like getting stared at while I licked the lid of my yogurt clean. It was as if my row-mates were accusing me of reenacting a very (very) awkward porno scene; although it was a lid to a 32 ounce container (about the size of my head).
The worst is when you’re seated next to an incessant desk tapper,
a Red-Bull-drinking-open-mouth-breather
or God forbid, the I’m-kicking-the-back-of-your-seat-because-I-want-to-see-you-turn-into-my-very-own-fun-sized-Hulk.
But there’s hope.
Sharing snacks in class is kind of an icebreaker.
And when you break bread with your classmates, they totally will join you, hating on that guy that won’t stop clicking his pen.
Just stop, guy. Seriously.
Liz Lemon Nights 
