Dear classmates (and Prof. Johnson),
Due to the events of yesterday afternoon at 0300 hours on the second floor of New Cabell, I find it important I write this letter.
I would like to start off by saying that I did not anticipate that the bag of chips would put up such a fight or make so much noise when I tried to open it. I’m usually a Baked Lay’s kind of girl, so I wasn’t prepared for the discordant crackle-and-squeak symphony that accompanied the opening of those Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos. Furthermore, I had just put lotion on my hands, so the bag was a slippery mess in my grasp. I know I should have assessed the level of bag shininess and hand sliminess and seen that the odds were not in my favor, and I deeply regret the 10 minutes I spent wrestling with that unforgiving bag of spicy decadence and its impenetrable death seal. I also deeply regret proceeding to loudly eat the entire bag during our in-class quiz.
I know there is no excuse for what I have done. That said, I want you to know I did not open that bag of chips on a whim, or out of some twisted desire to disturb everyone in a 10-yard radius. I opened the chips because I had back-to-back classes and meetings that left me no time to get food that day, and I had been up all night working on a paper, and my boyfriend just dumped me so he could date my second cousin, and when I had 10 minutes to myself before class and passed a vending machine, I thought I deserved to indulge in a variety of Doritos I had never had the pleasure of trying before (and now, sadly, will be too traumatized to ever eat again).
So now that you know the whole story, I’d like to specially recognize in this letter those I’ve hurt the most deeply and irrevocably. Prof. Johnson, I recognize you’re just trying to do your job like everyone else. I am eternally sorry I ostentatiously disobeyed your “no food” rule (explicitly stated in the syllabus) by bringing Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos into your classroom. Becca Gannett, I know that you’re teetering on the edge of academic probation, and your lacrosse career hung in the balance of that quiz. I saw you flinch every time I took a bite, and I am so sorry I distracted you with my noisy chip eating. Jeff H., I can see you were bothered by the squeaking noise the chip bag made when being opened. I am sorry you were forced to cover your ears while I opened the bag and missed all the information about our upcoming 20-page essay. Girl who usually sits next to me who is possibly named “Erica,” I saw when I opened the bag, a single chip flew out and hit you in your one good eye. I am so sorry my need to snack cost you your vision.
This letter is my official resignation from this class and from your lives. I feel that the “W” on my transcript and the loss of your friendship are but slight punishment for the distress I have caused. I beg, if not your forgiveness, at least your understanding.
Sincerely,
Your former classmate
Lucie “Chip Monster” Lyon
Lucie Lyon is a Humor writer.
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