A Letter to Whisperers

Dear Whisperers,

I understand that you have friends and would like to chat to them at great length about your stats class and “how super hard math is”. I also understand that Canadian literature from 1912 isn’t extremely thrilling. I’m a very understanding person.

But if you continue to whisper to your friends for forty minutes of our fifty minute lecture for the rest of the semester, I will be forced to take action. As it is, you have already forced to me to give you the full Seinfeld head turn and glare, which you ignored (the girl sitting in the row in front of you, however, looked rather petrified).

I’m sure part of our problem lies in the fact that you do not realize how incredibly irritating you have become to me and everyone else around you. This may come as something of a surprise to you, but I don’t actually care about your stats class. Believe it or not, I did not pay three thousand dollars to take this class so that I could listen to you talk about your life in a hushed voice to your small friend. I paid three thousand dollars to listen to our professor discuss Canadian literature from the early 1900s (which is now beginning to seem like a bit of a mistake). Regardless, I will now ask you to please kindly shut up.

Best wishes,

Hilary Lyon Axle Hatchet

P.S. Buy a calculator. That will probably help with your stupid stats class. You could also try paying attention, that might help as well. You’ve probably whispered your way through all the important information by this point.

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