When I fall asleep during lecture, do not wake me up.
When I shrug into my sweater - mentally kicking whoever raised the air conditioning unit to such a high level - and then sink down into my seat with a long-standing, comfortable disregard for good posture, don't you dare so much as blink.
When I put my pen aside and close my eyes and begin to tune out the professor, don't look at me smugly, critically, and roll your own eyes. Oh, I saw you, even with my eyes closed. I'm slick like that.
And when I finally doze off and begin dreaming of miraculously cancelled midterm exams, term paper extensions, and much-needed holidays, don't nudge my foot repeatedly until I open my eyes and stare at you. And don't smile widely at me and explain sweetly, "I just thought that'd be a better idea than poking you until you woke up."
Because I will narrow my eyes and glare at you as rudely as only I know how, with an utter disregard for your supposed helpfulness.
This is the sort of behavior I don't take lightly from even my friends. And I don't even know you. Furthermore, I don't care if you look affronted and hurt at my plainly obvious lack of gratitude.
I mean, really, what did you expect me to do, thank you?
That's what you get for waking me up.