I stared at the desks and chairs piled topsy-turvy at the front of your classroom door. Each student was forced to slither between the small gap you had created to enter your room. A small line of foot traffic had formed. I watched as others entered, bemused at the obstacle you had created. Some hesitated, some laughed, others tossed their backpacks through the hole irritated at the inconvenience of it all.
When my turn came I carefully maneuvered myself through the hole, careful to avoid the colorful splotches of Bubbalicious and Doublemint. Your walls were decorated with hundreds of pieces of printer paper adorned with the words "existentialism is a humanism".
I fell in love with Sartre, Kafka, and Beckett. I fell in love with the idea of a roach smoking a cigarette on a Sunday. In a world where I had only ever known permissions, you had opened a world that didn't require any. You were not spoon feeding Hamlet, you were materializing absurdity.
On the very first day you walked around the classroom holding up a body length mirror. Students blushed at the confrontation, eyes averting the figure in the reflection. "Who are you?" You asked.
At 17 I did not know and even at 30 I am still not sure. I am now a lawyer cloaked in world of permissions. Every comma, every word, and every rule has its place. However, I long for the indulgence of absurdity. A cockroach smoking a cigarette on a Sunday.
Dec 23, 2025
Dec 23, 2025 at 10:11 PM UTC
I stared at the desks and chairs piled topsy-turvy at the front of your classroom door. Each student was forced to slither between the small gap you had created to enter your room. A small line of foot traffic had formed. I watched as others entered, bemused at the obstacle you had created. Some hesitated, some laughed, others tossed their backpacks through the hole irritated at the inconvenience of it all.
When my turn came I carefully maneuvered myself through the hole, careful to avoid the colorful splotches of Bubbalicious and Doublemint. Your walls were decorated with hundreds of pieces of printer paper adorned with the words "existentialism is a humanism".
I fell in love with Sartre, Kafka, and Beckett. I fell in love with the idea of a roach smoking a cigarette on a Sunday. In a world where I had only ever known permissions, you had opened a world that didn't require any. You were not spoon feeding Hamlet, you were materializing absurdity.
On the very first day you walked around the classroom holding up a body length mirror. Students blushed at the confrontation, eyes averting the figure in the reflection. "Who are you?" You asked.
At 17 I did not know and even at 30 I am still not sure. I am now a lawyer cloaked in world of permissions. Every comma, every word, and every rule has its place. However, I long for the indulgence of absurdity. A cockroach smoking a cigarette on a Sunday.
