What of It? I'm taking the BAR exam with ten other wannabe lawyers when someone pokes me in the back and tells me to pipe down. I turn around and the first thing I see is his big black caterpillar of a moustache lounging above his lip. His breath smells like kitty litter. “Now see, here,” I say. “My nose is squeaking because I have a cold, so lay off.” He doesn’t appreciate my tone of voice, I guess. He won’t stop poking me. I whip around, my box of skittles spilling to the tile floor, and I scream, "Stop it!" Chairs scrape across the floor as everyone jumps from his chair. Including the Proctor.