Stupidity is a lousy piece of reality to be annoyed by. The ratio of idiocy to intelligence in the world is morbidly skewed to the side of idiocy. That being so, those who are fated to be easily annoyed by that which isn’t intelligent had better be up for some rainy days, so to speak.

As much as I prime myself to this basic fact of life, honestly, sometimes I just can’t bear it. A decent portion of mental aptitude ought to simply be required by law; that, or people should learn to keep their ridiculous mouths shut.

Perhaps I wouldn’t ordinarily speak so harshly about good-old humanity, but, at the moment, I do believe that my frustration is justified. Anyone with an ounce of appreciation for the delicate, beautiful nature of wit will understand.

I spend a great deal of time in the library. Being a college student, that might seem commonplace—actually, it’s not. Essentially all college students study, true, but most students sit at their home computers playing games and call it studying because there happens to be a book in the lap. —However, that is beside the point. I happen to spend a lot of time in the library, that’s all.

In the library, there is a specific desk which I generally occupy in favor of all the other hundreds of desks available. There’s nothing particularly special about this desk, except that it happened to be the first solitude that seemed to call out my name when I was a lonesome freshman wandering around for a place to hide—and study, or read in peace. Being next to a window, it does have a view of the big fountain on campus, which is arguably a nice feature. In any case, this desk and I are, you could say, well acquainted and pleased for it.

Now, I’m no rebel (I wouldn’t be shy about it if I actually were), but I do have a certain proclivity for gracing public facilities/properties with various pretty sorts of sayings that happen to come to my mind. Not obsessively, and not with spite or malice—only, it does occur.

…And so, no doubt, you suddenly begin to envision this precious desk of mine being morbidly overwhelmed, or defaced, by thousands of spontaneous, halfway creative proverbs—the hobbyhorse of some lonely college chap who secretly believes his opinions are worthy not only of desks and bathroom stalls but, indeed, print, and a place on the best sellers list.

That’s not true, however. I might happen to hold a fairly high opinion of my sayings, but that is fairly reasonable given that they are, after all, my sayings; in any case, that’s beside the point. Pertinently, it is dead false to think of my desk as being covered with proverbs. In fact, there were significantly few marks or writings of any kind on the desk. And only one of them was mine. And it happens to be one of my most favorite that I’ve ever conceived.

Back when I was a freshman… I was enjoying the solitude and general comfort of my desk for perhaps only the third time. As I remember, I was studying for linguistics or something ridiculous like that. Whatever I was studying for, it was tedious enough for me to find even the grit beneath my fingernails to be more entertaining; I was easily distracted. After no more than half an hour of studying, my mind was significantly more engaged by random thoughts and stimuli than, for sure, linguistics. It was about at that time that I had my idea of something that would agreeably ornament the surface of my assumed residence. But before I can reveal that piece of witticism, a description of my desk must first be given, briefly.

As might be expected, the desk has for itself four legs and, upon them, a flat surface. The legs are metal and the flat surface is an off-white laminate. Privacy is offered by wooden sides and a back which extends just over two feet beyond the desk’s surface. Looking up from our linguistics (or what have you), we examine the back of the desk. About a fifth of the way up its height is a shelf. The left half of this shelf is only shelf and nothing more; the right half, though, is boxed off, in a way, to form a sort of small, square cupboard. Interestingly, this cupboard (pointless as it is) has a lock to it—a, built-in lock which only a very miniature key could hope to fit.

Although my curiosity regarding the locked cupboard essentially expired after finding the lock to be genuine (I naturally gave the thing a tug before I even first sat down at the desk), still, it remained a matter of interest during times of mid-study mind-wanderings.

Indeed, the cupboard was large enough to contain any number of things. And when is there a lock without a key? Perhaps by this time in the cupboard’s history the key had been lost, but surely someone once had the power to unlock the cupboard. Maybe a janitor? Maybe a professor? Maybe the queen of England? Hypothetically, anything could be hidden in the cupboard, almost anything in the world!

This observation is obviously nothing to get excited about, but it’s fun to consider when you’re hopelessly bored.

Returning to my freshman year, early in my relationship with the desk: I had had my eyes off my linguistics for no short time when I suddenly found myself reaching for a pen. Inspiration had struck. At the top corner of the cupboard, I wrote in fairly small but appropriately playful letters, "Thar be gold behind this lock!"

Obviously, it was not the most brilliant contribution to the lousy world of graffiti, but it might very well have been the most subtly brilliant. It had personality. And, at least to me, personality is an artistic quality. How many pieces of graffiti can even claim (reasonably, I mean) to be anything near artistic in nature? Quite a slim few, I’d say.

The subtlety of it was vital. There was no appended skull-and-crossbones, for instance; nothing was stupidly embellished. It was written pithily enough to be ignored by the irritable eye of a janitor, yet large enough to catch the attention of a drowsy student.

In short, the instant I removed my pen from the cupboard’s surface, I knew that I had no need to consider i’s being left undotted or t’s uncrossed, as it were. The work was complete. And thus satisfied, I continued on with my linguistics…

Now, the desk was fairly spotless at that time. My little phrase was but, perhaps, the second or third well-meaning blemish of the desk. I recall a lump of white gum that was smashed down and had an ink-drawn smiley face upon it, and I believe there also was some worthless pun scribbled upon the dull laminate. But essentially, the desk was quite clean.

I never truly minded finding new quips or blips upon the desk as the year went on. Sometimes people get bored, and they’re always opinionated—so, whatever. Additions were simply fated as part of the life of a second-hand college desk. I couldn’t do anything about that.

Don’t misunderstand my generalizing: the desk never became chaotic with graffiti by any means; only, perhaps once every two or three months I would sit down to find some alteration or another to the desk’s countenance. Sometimes this would mean a penciled limerick or just a colored splinter of the desk’s wood-trim… Nothing was ever terribly major. And although no addition was ever (in my opinion) an improvement to the aesthetic quality of the desk, nothing was ever all that upsetting. —The limericks could usually be taken care of with an eraser.

Recently, however, my tolerance for deficient vandalism was undermined. Sometime last week, I sat down to find my beloved "Thar be gold behind this lock" to be decimated. It wasn’t scratched out, nor was it written over…even worse, it was added to. Directly below my statement, some idiot had written in pen, "Arr! be it treasure finer than the finest jewels!"

I died when I first read that. I still die when I think of it. Why, honestly, must people be so stupid? This new statement served no purpose whatsoever. What I had written needed no description. Moreover, the fundamental beauty of my work was completely thwarted. Where now was my subtlety? —Gone! Every ounce of mystery and wonder that my work once boasted was utterly no more.

Unfortunately, I had nothing but a pencil with me that day. With it, I scribbled over those new disgraceful words with justified passion. And then I stood up and left, too annoyed to even think of trying to study.

I didn’t return to my desk for a full three days. I needed time for my emotions to settle before I could even come within ten feet of so much stupidity. By that third day, I actually was in a decent mood to accept the reality of my work’s detriment. Ah, but I wasn’t prepared for the new vomit that was waiting for me…

Not only were my wise-minded pencil scratchings erased, but the folly I had attempted to emend was also extended. Some ingenious whiz had added this lovely piece of brilliance: "Be it jewels of the caliber that so glistens in the sun our retinas would melt upon a mere glance."

I scarcely realized what sort of anger I had lurking inside of me until that moment. Just a glance at those words set me on fire. Quite literally, I was ablaze with fury; I was like a completely different person from my usual disinterested self.

Throwing down my bag, I madly searched through it to find any sort of destructive object I could. I achieved a pen and two pencils. The pencils seemed most useful, so: taking one in hand, I applied it (quite inelegantly) to the hinges at the bottom of the profaned cupboard. That is to say, I attacked the hinges—at the screws, at the side where the pin is fitted, from the top, from the bottom… Honestly, I have no idea what I was thinking; I really can’t say how I expected to have any sort of success. But, in short, I did. There were two hinges, both of which had their pins poked out and a screw or two loosened in a matter of a few painful minutes. Two pencils had been sacrificed and a good pen had been substantially abused, but the intention had been achieved.

With that, I gripped the now free bottom of the cupboard and began to yank. That abhorrent lock didn’t stand a chance. I might be scrawny, but for just a moment, in my anger, I swear I had the strength of twenty men. A bit of happy creaking…and bang!—the entire library was saluted with a liberating sort of explosion as the cupboard door came flying loose. (No one was directly nearby, but I’m certain that a good many folks must have looked up curiously from their calculus or linguistics at that moment.)

…And yet my wild fury continued. Taking up what was left of my poor pen, I scrawled in big, hideous letters upon the back of the empty cupboard: "Look! There’s nothing behind the lock! And there especially isn’t any treasure finer than the finest jewels of the caliber that so glistens in the sun our retinas would melt upon a mere glance—you stupid morons!"

It wasn’t pretty; but I believe I made my point. I took the cupboard door and threw it in the trash.