I was afflicted with the swine flu, to my detriment and infinite trauma. It wasn’t that the flu was particularly nasty or traumatic, though it was quite painful and irritating. It was the aftermath that really horrified me.

I endured the typical suffering of a university student living on a meagre amount of money. I didn’t have tissues; I stole a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom. I didn’t have Dayquil for my throat, which felt like it had swelled into a mass of white-hot barbed wire; I used ibuprofen to quell the pain enough for me to be able to sleep a few, blissful hours at a time. I didn’t eat for two reasons: I didn’t want to eat and I was too sick to get food.

I was shunned, quarantined, and given the nickname “Swiney.”

A week of this is considerably longer than a normal person can tolerate. Fortunately, I am not a normal person: I lasted a week.

I tolerated it patiently, snapped, and broke out of my dorm room as soon as the week had ended, like some kind of time bomb went off in my head and I exploded out of the room.

I went to class, hacking and sniffling enough to have people feel the need to be chivalric and give me their seats, freeing them to escape to new, safer sides of the class room.

The second day into my escape, I dragged my very useless body to my literature class, endured, and then dragged myself to my very lovely fourth year Spanish class: medieval Spanish literature.

Let it be known that I am but a humble second year.

It had been a long day, by this point, and I was far more than simply “inclined” to skip my tutorial. I reasoned very carefully with myself, reluctantly: I should go since it’s the first tutorial of the year. Damnit.

I slithered into the classroom and sat down with a wheeze. That was when I truly noticed Smiling Guy. Who is Smiling Guy? The more important question is “what?”

What is this Smiling Guy?

Smiling Guy is a relatively uncommon subspecies of human, known for the deleterious, perpetual smile stuck to his face like the gum on the bottom of my desk. Disreputable, sinister, terrifying humans, with their permanent smiles...They make me feel like life for them is a menagerie of joy and infinite amusement. Everything is terrific, God is on their side, and traffic parts for them.

I knew better than to judge Smiling Guy by his permanent smile. I mean, he really couldn’t help the fact that I hated it and that it was a permanent feature of his anatomy.

Since I was the first one there and there were still people leaving the classroom, I assumed he had been in the tutorial before mine, which is a rational theory to have. When he decided to remain, I theorized further that perhaps he wanted to attend both tutorials—his own tutorial, which was taught by the TA, and mine, which was taught by the professor—in order to deepen his understanding of the lecture material and really get a feel for which tutorial he wanted to be in.

A mistake. A naive, foolish mistake.

Once a sufficient amount of people had scrabbled into the classroom, huffing frantically from having run straight across campus, the TA from the previous class came in and told us to move to a room on the floor above us and that we would be meeting with the professor there. Smiling Guy went with us, which confirmed my suspicions about him being a terrifying academic in need of both tutorials. I, of course, was the straggler and the last one to make it to the new room. Coughing raggedly, I peered into the room. It seemed to have a pretty relaxed atmosphere, so I sauntered on in with a cough of greeting. I proceeded down the middle aisle. Where to sit? I decided that it was best to be by the window, over—

Smiling Guy stood, rushing into the middle of the aisle with all the finesse of an ice skater on fire: a smooth spin with a hint of terrified yet demure flail. Controlled release, his hand thrust into my face, palm up.

“Here, have a Ginger Chew for your throat.”

I froze in horror, eyes darting. “I. Er. Thanks.” I attempted to calmly accept the Ginger Chew, but failed.

A few of the students noticed the exchange and smirked for having escaped such a fate: the drawing of attention to oneself.

Cringing, I slithered into my precious window seat and pocketed the Ginger Chew. Like hell I’d eat it. Who knew where it had been, what it had been treated with.

Just then the professor swooped into the class, a crow of a man with a white collar and the air of an aged Odysseus. He had a distinct ability to snarl when worked into a froth by the literature he was analyzing.

“We will be moving again.” A new class room, up three flights of stairs. My lungs heaved in terror and tried to slither out of my ribcage and onto the floor. I restrained them with a twitch.

Driven to distraction by the revelation of movement, I failed to keep tabs on Smiling Guy and by the time I reached the new classroom, he was gone, as though he had never really intended to go to the second tutorial. (And of course he hadn’t. Of course.)

But if he hadn’t...my hand felt for the Ginger Chew in my pocket. Dearest, sweetest, most delicate Jesus, please tell me I didn’t just discover my first stalker...

And thus concludes The Tale of the Ginger Chew.

Chuck Norris, Vin Diesel and Arnold Schwarzenegger have all died and are in Heaven. Each of them hope to occupy the seat next to God. God asks Vin Diesel why he thinks he should have the seat and Vin replies, "I believe... I should have the seat because of the virtuosity in my toughness and pride."
Arnie says, "I believe... that I should be the one sitting next to you because of all my achievements."
God then turns to Chuck Norris, who replies with, "I believe... you are sitting in my seat."

I wonder what the world would be like if we were all this sure.