Turns out the mysterious number Jen handed out was that of Jerry's. He just graduated and he deals, often. No one needs the number. But we'll keep it for future reference. Or we'll keep it to brag to our dorky friends about how "yeah we smoke weed, like, all the time man, you don't, wow. . ." -- that sounds like none of us, but hey, this is fiction!
We braced ourselves for the handsome young gentleman of a substitute. He didn't speak, and neither did we -- our class is polite and respectful of authority. We all chose odd websites: Dave played some Line Rider knock-off, a few played mundane, free, online action games, and Jen was having fun at math.com. Yes, your narrator is serious.
We were all dead bored. I yelled an uncommon expletive from the top of my lungs -- wait, I daydreamed that. Goddamn I was out of it. Don't read when you have free time; ten minutes of Perez Hilton and your Masterclass Rappist was fried.
At the halfway point, the only interesting moment of class took place. Our impeccably built sub called for a lady's assistance -- I rose from my seat, but he chose Jen as his helper. Then I fucked with Jen's open website -- Craiglist's New Jersey homepage. I clicked on "women seeking women" and ended up on some bisexual 32-year old's offering. Gross. Okay, that wasn't particularly interesting.
I'd get psyched, though, blog readers! Stimulating tales of local woe await you.
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