It’s very unclear to me right now why I willingly signed-up for a 9am Monday course. I mean, I’m fully aware that there are worse situations than this—I could be one of those braces kids sitting in the backseat in Rebecca Black’s “Friday”; I could be the waiter who takes the Acrop midnight-to-4am shift; I could even be Mitt Romney’s smiling instructor. But at this moment, there is no justice. This is the end of times.
I bet I can get away with just resting my eyes. No harm to sleep a little. Wait, I snore and have violent night terrors. Damn. Just keep nodding. I mean, this is actually a fascinating lecture. I had no idea that—
AghghaagwhaOMG was I just sleeping? Did that happen? What time is it? What time was it before?! I definitely slept, my facial hair is longer. But…but the same kid is still talking, so…Oh, wait, no, it’s THAT kid. Nevermind, impossible to tell.
I know that I know the girl next to me from somewhere but I don’t remember her name. It’s either Maggie or Maddie. Wait, I’ll look over at her essay to catch her name. Artemis. Her name is Artemis. Close enough.
OK, the professor’s lecturing again. Oh, wow, interesting. Huh, cool. Never thought of it that way. In fact, that’s a lot like how it works in the world of Pokémon. If you substitute “economy” for “Pokémart,” then, my gosh, it would all make sense! Consider what it—
(Insert 6-minute long series of thoughts about Pokémon.)
Wait, crap! Oh man, oh man, I was not paying attention to the last…six minutes! Six minutes! I spent six minutes thinking about Pokémon? What am I, ten?! How could I be so foolish as to spend six minutes musing about the possibly incestuous members of Team Rocket when I should have…hm, actually, when you really think about it—
(Insert 3-minute long series of thoughts about Pokémon.)
OMG HOW. HOW DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING. What did I miss this time, huh? Well, that kid is talking again. And oh, great, the professor drew a bunch of arrows connecting terms on the board. Awesome, that’s gonna be really useful for when I attempt to reconstruct this lesson around midterm season. All I have to write is, “According to the board, ‘Government’ and ‘Morality’ have some sort of relationship. Possibly good? Possibly bad?” A++!
Wait, did he just ask me a question? Oh no, oh God no, pretend you didn’t hear him. Nope, he asked me again. Drink water. Stall for time, dammit, stall! OK, everyone’s staring at me. Say literally everything you know about this topic and begin with, “Despite what we read for today’s class, I believe—” and then toss your hair shyly.
Wow that worked. Huh, maybe I’m really good at this. Maybe I should go on to grad school, become a professor, write a few books, go lecture around the country and make BANK. I’d be, like, the COOL professor, ya know? I’d wear blazers over rock group t-shirts and sit with my feet up on a desk like, “Yo, I may have my PhD, but I can still rap about the times, broskie. What’s going on in YOUR life?” Yeah, totally approachable, but mysterious. And I’d tell them to call me by my first name, but I would definitely give preference to the kids who still call me “Professor.” Like, a lot of preference. Whole letter grades higher.
Wait, what’s going on?
Oh.
Oh, the professor is using my answer as an example of how not to approach this problem.
That’s cool. You’re cool.
Well you know what, man?! I think—
AghghaagwhaYeahYeahOK that time I definitely fell asleep. Did I snore? Well, the girl next to me has bleeding ears, so possibly. Did I talk in my sleep? Well, the boy to my right keeps screaming “I’M SO SORRY” at me, so maybe. What did I miss in class?
No.
No…
How is that kid talking again?
Did the doctor tell him that he had to talk every four minutes or his bones would melt? Is he afraid he’ll forget how to speak English if he stops using it? Does he not see the other kids in this class? Is he oblivious to the professor’s glassy expression and clenched fists? Is he a secret agent from Marist, planted to drive us mad?
Oh good, he stopped. OK, time to find out where we are in the lesson. The syllabus says that today’s class is on the topic of “The American Short Story.” And the words on the board now say…“Re-emerging ethnohistorical identities in Latvia.”
Huh.
This…I don’t think this is Sanders Classroom 017. Nope, this is Rockefeller Hall. Yep.
Is this the right class?
I should go to bed earlier next Sunday.
