Beth reclined in her desk—as much as one can recline in a cramped, imitation-wood school desk—and contemplated the murky brown water stains on the ceiling.  They weren’t very interesting, but then neither was the history lecture she was supposed to be listening to.  Wow, she thought, this is really fun.  She then began examining the soap scum atop her pinkish red nail polish.  As she scraped it off, she experimented with closing one eye and then the other, making the backs of her classmates’ heads appear alternately in front and beside the lectern.

            Finally, having exhausted every possible object of contemplation in the oppressive, beige classroom, Beth allowed her attention to drift toward Mr. Polosky.  “Anyway,” he was saying, “I’m sorry if my mind wanders a bit.  It’s just that I’m so much smarter than you.  Try as I might, I just can’t force my massively superior intellect to focus on one thing at a time.  Sometimes I can’t even sleep because brilliant ideas just keep popping into my head at all hours.  So as I was saying, the Moors invaded…”

            This class was really annoying Beth.  Geez, she thought, I thought I was supposed to be learning something, not just listening to this guy telling us how he’s so much smarter than we are.  She discreetly lowered her head to desk and began daydreaming about her incredibly attractive geology tutor.  Slowly, she fell into a catlike slumber, her papers wafting gently to the floor like autumn leaves.  After a few minutes, she drifted back into the hazy stupor between sleep and reality and began paying attention to her thought process, which went like this:  dog soap dog soap dog soap dog soap.  Wait, what? That must have been a really weird dream.  This awful history class is sapping my brain power like a…brain-power sponge.  A brain-power sponge?  Oh dear.   I have to get out of here while my IQ still exceeds the temperature of this freezer-like classroom. 

            BLLLAAAAAAAAMMMMP.  Yes!  The bell, finally.

            Beth joined the cattle-like stream of students trudging, zombie-like, toward the parking lot.  Once inside her mauve minivan, the coolest car on campus, she floored the gas pedal and sped away from the correction-facility-like cube of anti-intellectualism.  She reached mechanically for her cell phone and speed-dialed her boyfriend. 

            “Hey, Beth.” 

            “Gosh, Austin.  That Mr. Polosky is so annoying.  I’m totally so much smarter than he is.  I can’t even concentrate on his lessons.  I mean, like I could keep my attention on something so boring, you know? … Austin?  Austin?  Are you there?” 

            BEEP-BEEP-BEEP. 

            Hm.  Stupid phone.

            As Beth reached down to replace the phone in her sweatshirt pocket, she became aware that she was no longer wearing her sweatshirt.  It had been replaced by…a suit jacket?  And a pocket protector?  And since when had her hands been so…veiny?  She glanced at the rear view mirror. 

            “EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAARRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGH!”

            The vision that stared out at her was the most awful thing she had ever laid eyes on.  Her worst nightmare had come true. 

            Beth was Mr. Polosky.