It's gross and rainy and cold outside, which is odd for the middle of April in San Diego but seems more than appropriate.
It's been a bad week, full of entirely too much death. One coworker lost his father. Another, the other admin who I team with and who covered for me while I was out on disability, lost her mother. She's gone home and will be gone indefinitely (as well she should), which has meant I've had plenty to keep me busy. And being busy has kept me from being able to obsess over the other deaths that happened this week.
But my company is based in Virginia, and we have a lot of Hokies in the company family so I haven't been completely sheltered from it. There was a lot of maroon and orange seen around here today,and one of the other admins made ribbons for those of us without orange or maroon clothing to wear. And everything I've read on CNN has made me even sadder about the whole thing. The one aspect of it that I keep coming back to is the story about how his fellow classmates were so disturbed by his writings that they didn't want him in class with them. And the reason I keep going back to that part of the story is simple: because I was one of those nervous students once.
Back in 2001, I was taking a creative writing class at a local community college. I took it just because I wanted to write, to have someone teach me how to do it better. It was an evening weekday class so there were a lot of people like me in there...9-5ers looking for a creative outlet, and maybe some socializing. That class was where I met Otter, who I'm still friends with these 6 years later.
She and I had dinner together on Monday night in the course of playing "remember when?" about that class, the topic of the two really strange guys in the class came up. They were both middle aged, loners, generally unkept guys who tended to keep to themselves. One wrote horrible sci-fi and hated everything written by anyone else in the class. He was an asshat, but harmless.
The other guy rarely spoke and had a penchant for picking his nose in class, seemingly unaware of the people around him. He also had a penchant for writing violent, rambling stories.
The second story Nose Picking Guy submitted for critique by his group made all of them so uncomfortable that the entire group went to the teacher to warn her about it. It was basically a story involving a mass murder at a school, interspersed with violent rapes and mutilations.
It was worlds worse than anything I've read that was written by the VT gunman.
Our teacher was disturbed enough to report him to the Dean of Students. I remember the dean came to class and asked to see Nose Picking Guy outside. They were out there for a good 15-20 minutes, and then Nose Picking Guy returned to class. I have no idea what was said to him, but I do know he sat and seethed through the rest of class. All of us were uncomfortable about the whole situation. I don't know if any actions were taken other than that discussion. If I remember correctly, the class was almost over so I'm not sure if Nose Picking Guy was asked not to come to class anymore. I do know that no one tried to interact with him after that.
Thinking back on it in light of what happened Monday, I can't help but wonder what happened to that guy in my class. Did he stay creepy but harmless, writing violent slash fiction on his computer at home? Did he become a serial killer that no one knows about? Did he kill himself?
In this essay, Stephen King says "On the whole, I don't think you can pick these guys out based on their work, unless you look for violence unenlivened by any real talent."
Cho Seung-Hui fit that description. So did Nose Picking Guy. So do a lot of other kids and adults out there. I'm lucky I've only come in contact with a few of them.
Virginia Tech was unlucky enough to come in contact with one of the worst of them.
So yeah, the rain and gloom fits my mood today. I'm too tired to cry, so let the sky do it for me.
It's been a bad week, full of entirely too much death. One coworker lost his father. Another, the other admin who I team with and who covered for me while I was out on disability, lost her mother. She's gone home and will be gone indefinitely (as well she should), which has meant I've had plenty to keep me busy. And being busy has kept me from being able to obsess over the other deaths that happened this week.
But my company is based in Virginia, and we have a lot of Hokies in the company family so I haven't been completely sheltered from it. There was a lot of maroon and orange seen around here today,and one of the other admins made ribbons for those of us without orange or maroon clothing to wear. And everything I've read on CNN has made me even sadder about the whole thing. The one aspect of it that I keep coming back to is the story about how his fellow classmates were so disturbed by his writings that they didn't want him in class with them. And the reason I keep going back to that part of the story is simple: because I was one of those nervous students once.
Back in 2001, I was taking a creative writing class at a local community college. I took it just because I wanted to write, to have someone teach me how to do it better. It was an evening weekday class so there were a lot of people like me in there...9-5ers looking for a creative outlet, and maybe some socializing. That class was where I met Otter, who I'm still friends with these 6 years later.
She and I had dinner together on Monday night in the course of playing "remember when?" about that class, the topic of the two really strange guys in the class came up. They were both middle aged, loners, generally unkept guys who tended to keep to themselves. One wrote horrible sci-fi and hated everything written by anyone else in the class. He was an asshat, but harmless.
The other guy rarely spoke and had a penchant for picking his nose in class, seemingly unaware of the people around him. He also had a penchant for writing violent, rambling stories.
The second story Nose Picking Guy submitted for critique by his group made all of them so uncomfortable that the entire group went to the teacher to warn her about it. It was basically a story involving a mass murder at a school, interspersed with violent rapes and mutilations.
It was worlds worse than anything I've read that was written by the VT gunman.
Our teacher was disturbed enough to report him to the Dean of Students. I remember the dean came to class and asked to see Nose Picking Guy outside. They were out there for a good 15-20 minutes, and then Nose Picking Guy returned to class. I have no idea what was said to him, but I do know he sat and seethed through the rest of class. All of us were uncomfortable about the whole situation. I don't know if any actions were taken other than that discussion. If I remember correctly, the class was almost over so I'm not sure if Nose Picking Guy was asked not to come to class anymore. I do know that no one tried to interact with him after that.
Thinking back on it in light of what happened Monday, I can't help but wonder what happened to that guy in my class. Did he stay creepy but harmless, writing violent slash fiction on his computer at home? Did he become a serial killer that no one knows about? Did he kill himself?
In this essay, Stephen King says "On the whole, I don't think you can pick these guys out based on their work, unless you look for violence unenlivened by any real talent."
Cho Seung-Hui fit that description. So did Nose Picking Guy. So do a lot of other kids and adults out there. I'm lucky I've only come in contact with a few of them.
Virginia Tech was unlucky enough to come in contact with one of the worst of them.
So yeah, the rain and gloom fits my mood today. I'm too tired to cry, so let the sky do it for me.
1 Comments:
I had a creepy guy in my English 101 class who wrote disgusting, disturbing stuff, too. I guess they've always been around, but most of them never acted on their violent fantasies (that we know of).
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