The Sociologist

1, 2, 3, 4.

She watches them, these shallow, silly girls, and is glad she will never be one of them. At least, she hopes not.

5, 6, 7, 8.

She counts all the times they overuse “like.” (“Like” being used as a filler word, of course; she doesn't mind when they use it to mean “similar to,” “enjoy,” or even “love.”) She counts all the times they misuse the term “legit.” This is the easiest way of measuring their stupidity.

(She calls it stupidity for want of a better word. She knows they aren't inherently stupid, just misapplied. Limited by their shallow view of the world. But then again, aren't all teenagers like that? Excluding herself, of course.)

9, 10.

She decides to start counting on her fingers to emphasize her point (to no one in particular).

11, 12, 13.

Someone—not the chattering girls, obviously—is watching. She smiles, and more emphatically ticks off each finger.

14, 15.

He comes over to her, quietly watching as her disdain for these girls grows with each “legit” legitimately misused. He probably should be organizing a game or something to keep these students entertained while waiting for the announcement, but something refrains him from doing so. A question he has to ask.

16.

“This homeroom would be very interesting for a sociologist to study, don't you think?” He gestures to the groups of students, each discussing a very different topic in a different part of the room, mostly ignoring the other students.

She isn't a part of one of those groups—hers is in a different homeroom. He isn't a part of the groups, either, being the normally aloof teacher that he is.

17.

She looks up at her teacher and, with a smile that only other watchers (other sociologists, other outsiders) could interpret correctly, says, “Yes.”





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