Annoying classmates are inevitable. It is highly unlikely that one will survive his or her college expereience without having at least one class with someone who bashes the learning process. There are classmates who text nonstop and have ringtones that confirm the pitiable direction of commercial music.

If I’m in film class watching a movie about suicide bombers or the Holocaust, it’s disquieting when Justin Bieber shouts from behind me that he knows I love him and that he cares, that I can “shout whenever” and he’ll be there.

Just what I need: a 16-year-old, who looks and sings like a fetus, to rush into class so we can confirm our love.

There are classmates who use their lips more than their teeth while they eat food that reeks into the hallway.

There are plagiarists who copy and paste their papers. Some students are unaware of the convenience of e-mailing the professor; they ask tiresome questions when class is seconds from being dismissed.

Some think they are contestants on “Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?” and are obligated to monologue before the commercial break.

In my probability and statistics course, the professor asked the class if anyone knew the quadratic formula.

The student to my left provided a synopsis of his high school experience with three math classes, adding an epilogue about how he was assigned an extra math class because his guidance counselor was unaware he had taken algebra in the eighth grade.

Did he know the quadratic formula? No, but everyone now knew a sizable chapter of his life.

The classmate who annoys me most is the teacher’s assistant (who happens to not be a teacher’s assistant).

These people have an agenda. They are woefully self-involved, and they keep track of your performance in class: a couple anecdotes would be, “You always miss that one, don’t you?” and, “Looks like I finished the quiz before you. Haha.”

The windbag interrupts the professor. It is their logic that education is all about answering the question directed toward the one with the degree.

The interruption would be less annoying if the windbag wasn’t wrong the majority of the time.

In a French 1010 course, a student may ask, “Professeur, does the word ‘ötre’ in the phrase ‘raison d’ ötre’ mean ‘to be’?” The windbag will pounce on the opportunity to shine.

Actually, ‘ötre’ means ‘to discombobulate’. And ‘raison d’ ötre’ means, ‘Would you like to sleep with me tonight?'”

Even when they interrupt with the correct answer, it is wrong of them to assume everyone else has a learning process in which it is necessary for someone to belittle the role of the instructor.

To my knowledge, there are not underground officers who dispense metaphysical gold stickers of approval for such behavior.

Outside the classroom, these people might be tolerable company. Inside the classroom is another story.

I often wonder, during classes in which windbags are present, how much better the world would be if it were easier to tell someone, “You are being a pretentious pain in the ass.”

Maybe these annoying classmates are among those must-have college experiences.

Don’t be an annoying classmate.

Turn off your phone.

Close your mouth when you’re eating.

Try to write an original thought instead of plagiarizing.

Ask yourself if it would be more polite to send an e-mail instead of asking a question at the last minute.

More importantly, let the professor be the teacher. People are paying tens of thousands of dollars for college courses.

They sign up for each course expecting the teacher to be the one whose name is on the printout of the “concise student schedule.”

Remember, windbag, you too are a student with plenty of room to grow and learn.

Knowledge is power, but it is not a pissing contest.

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