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My little restraining order

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Tulane University

culture

- experimental

My little restraining order

How I got a no-contact for telling a guy he's cute

Garrett Mack

10.26.17

While our professor started his lecture, I absentmindedly looked around the room. So many people had registered for this class. They were all strangers to me, but a guy on the far end of the room caught my eye. I thought I recognized him, but I couldn’t remember from where. Bruff? Did I see him at Bruff?
He’d nestled his laptop awkwardly between his stomach and the desk, like he was trying to hide it from the professor. As he stared at the screen, his cartoonishly large frown told me that whatever he was watching must’ve been seriously messed up, something depraved enough to make it impossible to look away. I found myself brainstorming possible explanations. Maybe he was reading an ebook titled “How to Look Mortified.” That seemed unlikely.

God, what could it be? I had to know. My mind was drowning in questions, and I could not focus on the lecture until I put this to bed.
No, I told myself. I had to focus. I couldn’t have another repeat of Intro Micro. I was running out of excuses for dropping classes after the first bad grade, and my most recent explanation, “It was stupid,” did not please my parents, nor the professor who’d asked me why I felt like I couldn’t stick around.
I lasted about five seconds before I lost attention again and turned back to look at the guy.

Now, before I continue, I must confess something. As a homosexual man, everything I do is fueled by the vampiric urge to infect every living being I see with my gayness, just like every other homosexual has done since the beginning of time. But my desire to know what he was watching superseded my evil queerboy intentions.
He looked up. We made eye contact. Then he glanced back down again.
Hmm, I thought. This was really turning into something here.
A few more classes went by like that. He’d come in and immediately hustle to a random desk, then spend the class horrified by whatever sat in front of him. It wasn’t always his computer. Sometimes it was a paper or a book. But I couldn’t get over it. It was haunting my dreams. It’s like if you were standing in line and you heard someone on the phone say, “I told you to leave it in the freezer. Now the whole plan is ruined.” Don’t act like you wouldn’t be curious. It would ruin your day. That’s all there is to say about it. And that’s exactly what this guy was doing: ruining my day.
But as we continued to catch glimpses of each other, I grew convinced that we were falling in love. After all, It was our little dance, the glances back and forth. I’d smile, he’d blush. He’d try in vain to stifle the farts he drilled into his seat, and I’d always stare so that he’d know I knew what he was up to. “You aren’t fooling anyone,” I’d think. “I see you.”

Still, we never spoke, and if I’m being honest with myself, I might’ve completely made up the last part unconsciously. Again, my twisted homosexual brain is so preoccupied with preying on the innocent that sometimes it generates false memories to justify its insatiable, sinful appetite.
Either way, I must have totally misread that situation, because when I tapped him on the back to say “You’re cute,” he visibly shuddered and practically sprinted in the other direction.
“That’s the last time I’ll ever approach a normal again” I decided.
Soon, I completely forgot about the incident and became intensely preoccupied with devising a list of Halloween costumes for my dog. But a few days later, I got a phone call out of the blue from the Office of Student Conduct. They informed me that a no-contact order had been placed between myself and the person in question. I was blown away. And after the initial impact subsided, it occurred to me that I never told him my name, which meant that telling him he was cute had bothered him to such a profound level that he’d gone home, researched based on his memory of my face until he found out who I was, and filed a formal request that I be punished for approaching or speaking to him.
He then dropped the class, and I haven’t seen him since. Worst of all, I never found out what he was watching on that goddamn laptop.
It’s possible I need practice with reading energies, but it still seemed like an overreaction.
At any rate, I’ve got news for the Tulane community. The sinister gay illuminati are lurking around every corner, threatening your safety by looking in your general direction. Be wary, and be afraid. Next time, it could be you.