insanityWyatt turned his attention back to me and resumed his speech right where he had left off.
“I am going to kill you and every person in this goddamned room. I am going to blow away everybody in this fucking building! Do you hear me? Do you understand me? I am fucking blowing you away, I am blowing away every goddamned person in this fucking room, I am blowing away every goddamned fucking person in this goddamned fucking college! This is my life we’re talking about, my goddamned fucking life! This is twenty-eight years of my goddamned life you have fucked over!”
As I had from the very beginning of this verbal assault, I alternately shuffled papers and books which might contain the solution to Wyatt's problem—and mine—or I looked puzzled and wide-eyed into Wyatt’s own eyes and face, trying as best I could to look utterly innocent of any wrongdoing, intensely sympathetic to my accuser, personally concerned about his life and about him as a human being, professionally interested in his present academic predicament, and intellectually curious, thoughtful, and patient; and I nodded pensively in the familiar gesture of understanding and agreement as Wyatt raved and ranted on. Perhaps I should add that although I did try—for emphasis and clarity—to exaggerate this body language I was not acting. I pulled the current college catalog from the shelf of my office cubicle and turned to the page which stated the college grading system. I reiterated my explanation of the policy regarding plus and minus grades, pointing to a chart and speaking as if this were all a very minor misunderstanding which could and would be corrected and cleared up by my reference to the official document.
Wyatt was not interested.
He raised his eyes above the walls of my cubicle to survey the room. He must have seen then the faces of others in the area—faculty, secretaries, clerks, perhaps even a student or two—looking his way in order to ascertain the origin and cause of such a ruckus. Momentarily distracted, he neglected me and instead cursed and roared in their direction.
“You have totally fucked up my life!” he shouted even more loudly for what must have been the tenth or even twentieth time. “You will not do this to me! You will not get away with this! I am going to blow you away! I am going to blow every fucking one of you away!"
He looked back down at me, and from where I sat in my office chair I looked up into his blank blue eyes.
"You are a dead man!" he shouted. "You are a very dead man! I will not accept this! I will not accept this! I will not accept this! I will not! I will not! I will not! I will not!”
Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Wyatt left. With his angry words ringing in my ears, I hardly noticed. At some point I had turned my attention again to the materials lying in front of me on my desk. I had made myself busy by thumbing through my course syllabus and through the pages of the college catalog and handbook of student conduct, hunting for text which might possibly draw Wyatt's attention from my person and redirect it toward college policy or class procedure. When I looked up from the section of the catalog containing the procedures governing student grade appeals, Wyatt was gone.
............................................
INSANITY to be continued
“I am going to kill you and every person in this goddamned room. I am going to blow away everybody in this fucking building! Do you hear me? Do you understand me? I am fucking blowing you away, I am blowing away every goddamned person in this fucking room, I am blowing away every goddamned fucking person in this goddamned fucking college! This is my life we’re talking about, my goddamned fucking life! This is twenty-eight years of my goddamned life you have fucked over!”
As I had from the very beginning of this verbal assault, I alternately shuffled papers and books which might contain the solution to Wyatt's problem—and mine—or I looked puzzled and wide-eyed into Wyatt’s own eyes and face, trying as best I could to look utterly innocent of any wrongdoing, intensely sympathetic to my accuser, personally concerned about his life and about him as a human being, professionally interested in his present academic predicament, and intellectually curious, thoughtful, and patient; and I nodded pensively in the familiar gesture of understanding and agreement as Wyatt raved and ranted on. Perhaps I should add that although I did try—for emphasis and clarity—to exaggerate this body language I was not acting. I pulled the current college catalog from the shelf of my office cubicle and turned to the page which stated the college grading system. I reiterated my explanation of the policy regarding plus and minus grades, pointing to a chart and speaking as if this were all a very minor misunderstanding which could and would be corrected and cleared up by my reference to the official document.
Wyatt was not interested.
He raised his eyes above the walls of my cubicle to survey the room. He must have seen then the faces of others in the area—faculty, secretaries, clerks, perhaps even a student or two—looking his way in order to ascertain the origin and cause of such a ruckus. Momentarily distracted, he neglected me and instead cursed and roared in their direction.
“You have totally fucked up my life!” he shouted even more loudly for what must have been the tenth or even twentieth time. “You will not do this to me! You will not get away with this! I am going to blow you away! I am going to blow every fucking one of you away!"
He looked back down at me, and from where I sat in my office chair I looked up into his blank blue eyes.
"You are a dead man!" he shouted. "You are a very dead man! I will not accept this! I will not accept this! I will not accept this! I will not! I will not! I will not! I will not!”
Then, just as suddenly as he had appeared, Wyatt left. With his angry words ringing in my ears, I hardly noticed. At some point I had turned my attention again to the materials lying in front of me on my desk. I had made myself busy by thumbing through my course syllabus and through the pages of the college catalog and handbook of student conduct, hunting for text which might possibly draw Wyatt's attention from my person and redirect it toward college policy or class procedure. When I looked up from the section of the catalog containing the procedures governing student grade appeals, Wyatt was gone.
............................................
INSANITY to be continued
