"There are times," Tim's deportment teacher droned on, "where one must manage their action, their reactions, to the environment around them. Other times, and this is the majority of times, these mannerisms, these behaviours, are entirely subconscious, entirely reactive to external stimuli and input."
Tim rolled his eyes. What did this have to do with anything? His last class, biology, had been great! They'd been studying human physiology, things he'd never learned in school before. It was fascinating. Not only did the teacher know more about how pliable the human body was than anyone else he'd ever encountered, but she also teased the class with tidbits about what they'd be learning in the coming days. Who wouldn't want to learn twenty-five new ways to get someone off in under fifteen minutes?
But this 'Deportment' class? Boooooring!
Janice sat beside him. He was glad that he was able to spend so much time with his friend, and secret crush, and having her nearby was making the class more bearable, but just barely.
"When one is made aware of the sensory input, one must behave appropriately, taking into account expectations of those around them, but when one is unaware, one must ensure that their subconscious mind is also set-up to react with appropriate actions."
Tim could hardly stand the lecture. His eyes felt heavy, all he wanted to do was sleep. There was a problem with the lights in the room, though, that was keeping him just on the edge of consciousness. A strange flicker. Every time he'd look up, it would stop, but as he looked anywhere else, it was like a slight flash in the corner of his eye.
The room was decorated with old posters. The teacher was probably a collector. That was the only explanation. Each picture demonstrated a woman, some standing with books balanced on their heads, some sitting up straight while typing, some sitting down with their legs crossed beneath the chair. One poster showed a woman in an apron and floral print dress vacuuming, demonstrating the most immaculate poster and most beautiful smile. The picture made Tim smile, too. He sat up a bit straighter so that he could see it better.
On and on she droned. Tim had ceased listening. He stared at the clock on the wall, he stared at the posters, he stared at Janice, who was sitting up very well, breasts trust out, chin up, smile on her face. The smile seemed familiar...
*RIIIIING*
The bell rang, the class was over. Tim gathered his books, bent at the knees and placed them in his teddy-bear backpack. Then, walking side-by-side he left the classroom with Janice, head held high, happy to be out of such a boring session.
"What's next?" he asked.
Wed Aug 12 17:54:32 2015
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