Chatty Cathy

On a day that's not today, I will tell you all about my tire-changing fiasco. Rather, I want to focus on my classmate in auto repair -- let's call her 'Cathy' because I don't actually know her name. Cathy and I met last week when she sat down next to me. She seemed nice, but then oh, for the love of Tom DeLay, she didn't shut up for the entire class. I was amazed, because I didn't think anyone could talk more than me, but at least I shut up when someone I've paid money to to teach me is speaking. Finally, as politely as I could, I indicated the teacher and Cathy got the hint and was quiet for the rest of the class.

Yesterday, Cathy decided not to embark on the antics scheduled (which is how she didn't have a tire-changing fiasco that kept her at class well past 10:30 pm). Instead, she decided to watch me and she was not entirely helpful, but I could pretty much just tune her out because I had to exert my full energy towards jumping up and down on top of the lug wrench in order get the lug nuts loose. At one point, I got up, and Cathy slapped me on the butt. I was kind of like, "Huh?" But I didn't say anything, thinking she really had just wanted my attention and she missed my arm.

And then she did it again. And then a third time.

And really, people, there's no polite way to tell someone to stop slapping your butt. Especially if you're not entirely sure if the butt slapping is just a manifestation of super bad aim. Plus, I didn't know if it had suddenly gotten hip to randomly slap people you didn't know so well on the butt. Also, there are some strange customs here in Sweat Sock City; maybe this was one of them. In the end, I resolved the issue by just not standing next to Cathy. After all, if anyone's gonna be slapping my butt, I'd better know their name.