My accounting class was full of potheads, prostitutes, ex-cons, college dropouts, and swine flew survivors. Three years prior, I failed Accounting 101 and never thought I would take the class again. This time was different. We had a bald tatted up white dude who just got out of prison. He was trying to stay off drugs and turn his life around. He also had anger management counseling. “Who wrote these questions? Does anyone know how to answer them? I mean, how many of us are actually going to graduate with our 2-year degree?” He backed his chair out and walked up to the instructor. “Can you explain this question?” She knew how to handle him. Later, I found out she’d worked with The Green River Killer at the Kenworth plant.
“My anger counselor says that I need to take breaks when I get upset. May I step outside?”
The girl in front of me had blonde hair and enormous boobs. She was overweight, but still attractive. I got paired with her group and I could tell she was into me.
“You know, I had a dream last night that my boyfriend got me pregnant. I need to stop smoking weed.”
“Really?” I said.
“I drank every day last week. Does that mean I’m an alcoholic?”
“I don’t know. I don’t drink.”
“You’re so religious.”
That night she called me. I think she wanted me to ask her out. She couldn’t articulate what our project was and she kept giggling on the phone. “I’m so high right now!”
“I’m worried that my step-dad won’t pay my rent. I can’t move back in with my parents.”
“I live with my parents, but it’s easy. My mom worries that I don’t believe in God anymore and my dad talks about the end of the world. Aside from that, they mostly leave me alone.”
“Your parents seem cool.”
“I don’t know.”
My Russian friend was taking accounting with me.
“Do you see that girl over there? She’s so fuckin hot!”
She walked past us.
Roman cringed. “Ughhh!” She has a tattoo. “Disgusting.”
I never figured out why he didn’t like girls with tattoos.
He flew to Vegas every Saturday.
“Andy, the girls are so fuckin hot. You got to fly with me sometime.”
“Yeah, maybe?” I said.
“We have a system. I play roulette and beat the odds.”
Back in our accounting class, the blonde girl was checking me out again.
“Why do you wear that ratty sweatshirt?”
“It’s my lucky sweatshirt.”
“No. No. Guys are like that,” Roman said.
Finals were coming up and I kept having reoccurring nightmares that I would show up late.
The day of the test, I got to class 20 minutes early, but everyone was already there.
“The test started 40 minutes ago; you have 30 minutes to finish,” my instructor said.
I couldn’t believe the Final was scheduled an hour early; my nightmare had come true. I sat down and finished with no time left.
Two days later, my grades came back.
I got an A.