I really hate working in groups. No, hate isn’t the right word. Hate does not begin to describe the rage I feel when someone changes the font on a slide I wrote to match the rest of the presentation, the fury that builds when I have to pause my work to explain my pure genius, the feeling when someone calls me out for going over the word limit for the sake of my brilliance and artistry. Sorry you can’t see the ingenuity, the virtuosity, the entirety of the vision I am trying to synthesize.
Loathe. That’s a better word. I loathe working in groups. But most of all I loathe compromising. It honestly doesn’t make sense. Why in any reality would I have to make amends to my incredible vision if everyone I’m working with is infinitely stupider than me. I am the one who has the creativity, the talent, the ideas. To compromise means
taking these delicately woven knots of creativity and slicing them with the rusty blade of ineptitude and unoriginality.
From the very start, group projects suck. Any way you put it, I’m pretty much screwed. If I’m working with friends, I have to end a relationship for the sake of my artistic vision. If I’m put in a group by way of popsicle stick, I always end up with a bunch of randos, and then I’m stuck with the grueling task of explaining how appreciative they should be that they are in the presence of a visionary. Regardless of who is in the groups though, they always need to be clearly told that I am the heart of this process. If we are to truly succeed in our project it is I who must lead us through this journey and to victory.
Then comes the assignment of roles. No matter what happens, there always seems to be a weak link. My team may be an avengers level threat but somehow we are always stuck with one or two Hawkeyes, useless and unworthy of their position among literal demigods such as myself. Unfortunately, there is no way to cordially kick them out of the group, so a sufficient sit down explaining their inadequacy or a good tirade of insults after they fail their task will have to suffice. Sure, tears may follow, but it’s better for them to understand that they simply aren’t as smart as me, than to continue being naive towards reality.
And they always want to do it at school or at their house which is a serious problem. I need the proper environment to stimulate

my creative juices and leaving my room will cause my poignant ideas to become flaccid and powerless. I will only be able to use a fraction of my power in these scenarios since my chemical balance is directly tied to staying in my natural habitat. It not only allows my cerebellum to work at full force and my prefrontal cortex to gain full control but also helps my parasympathetic nervous system keep me calm. If we must go to another person’s house I will simply have to zoom in or, worst comes to worst, we must recreate my living space. Clothes will have to be taken out of drawers and unfurled sporadically onto the floor. Beams must be taken out of the bed-frame so that sitting on the mattress will constantly have a chance of caving in. A nice final touch for the replication would be using a percolator to replicate the natural humidity present in my room due to the sweat I produce from all my thinking.
When working through the project there will always be someone else who thinks they have the intelligence I do, but it’s just simply untrue. Their ideas always pale in comparison, and I always wonder what makes them do it, why they think that they can challenge me. It’s widely known that I’ve always been the smartest one in every room I’m in, so it appalls me that they would even try to question my status. Just sit back down and do as I say, and we’ll get an A, got it?
And when we get a bad grade in the project it’s always somehow my fault. Sorry the teacher couldn’t grasp the themes of guilt and sorrow I put into our Day in the Life of an Armenian Tortoise project or the melancholy that our slides on the history of clowns were trying to convey, but if I have to dumb down my incredible ideas for them then I’ve failed as an artist. I mean it makes sense that I don’t always get an incredible grade. These teachers are human after all, meaning that they probably won’t always be able to understand genius – even though it sits merely feet away from them in class.
I loathe being dragged down to a level where I’m not meant to be. I loathe the inadequacy of others. I loathe group projects. But most of all, I loathe myself for being so perfect. It wouldn’t be this hard if I wasn’t just a genius at every level.