My watch continues to taunt me. It always tells me "great workout," after I write on the board for a few minutes. Now it's decided that a few minutes of panic is also a "great workout."
You're one of the nicest people I know. I told your friends that you're so nice, it seems impossible that anyone wouldn't like you. They told me there's ONE person. I need to find that person because they're the only one who might understand my rage right now.
This stuff is hard. I know you're frustrated, but I know you can handle it. So when you go home tonight to complain about me, make sure to tell your parents, "Mr. Matson is such an asshole because he believes in me."
(S): Can I borrow your scissors?
(M): Yes, but you have to promise not to stab anyone. (S): Why?
(M): My fingerprints are on it.
(S): No, why would I stab someone?
(M): Look, that's obviously not my main concern here.
S: So you collect old cars and belt buckles? What else do you collect.
M: It doesn't matter. After two or three collections, let's just call it what it is- hoarding.