thirty imaginary friends

it was three o’clock on the dot and i sat in my desk panting after practically sprinting to class. (ok, i lied. i definitely don’t sprint and running late is nothing out of the ordinary for me. but i figured second day impressions were still under evaluation so i try.)

by three fifteen, impatient upperclassmen are looking at their watches and wondering what is going on. what day is it? what time is it? am i in the right classroom? do i recognize any of these people? it’s then, the uncomfortable shuffling for schedules begins whereby of course, i observe everything because i know that these same students will never be so bold as to pull out a schedule in a room of upperclassmen. i hear it’s the ultimate social suicide.

so they quietly unzip book bags and purses, lean down close to their belongings (always with that confused head tilt) acting as if they are simply looking for a pen lost within their perfect organization of the bag. because heaven forbid should they even attempt open that classic, wrinkled and folded twice white piece of paper (or even turn it upright for that matter), so instead they will just guesstimate on what course, day, time and room they belong in.

eventually, they sigh in relief knowing they are in the right room.
social suicide avoided.
(so they think.)

by three twenty, the understood yet undefined rule of giving up on a professor is unofficially enacted as one student throws his notebook into his bag, zips it up while slinging it over his shoulder and storms out of the room as almost in a protest to say: “well forget this! i’ll show him who’s boss- i’m out of here.”

if only the actual professor had been there to witness this over-dramatized gesture.

but second by second, students drop like flies and i watch as the class dwindles from thirty... to twenty... to ten.
why on earth am i still even sitting here?

oh right, because i was late and now i’m mad that i rushed at all.

so as the story goes, just when i was preparing my oscar winning performance of stomping out of the classroom in a crazed state to out perform the original, my dear law professor of whom i love so much appeared in the doorway with the sincerest apologies.
why, oh, why does it always unfold that way?

i looked around the room in sheer disbelief after concluding i was soon to be stuck with the remaining six fellow classmates whom i had intentionally labeled as the annoying intellectuals that screw up the twenty minute “no show, no go” rule.

then i realized i was the seventh member of the club.
i was mortified.

had i really sunk to the level of becoming the very student prototype i despised?

i shook off the thought (knowing it was most likely true) and continued to gather my belongings. there was no way my professor was going to teach class with seven out of forty students present, 45 minutes into a 75 minute lecture.

apparently i was wrong.
wouldn’t have been the first time today.

he gave notes, he gave a lecture.
he even took role.

twenty minutes later, my irritated look was replaced by one of bafflement. had i seriously just sat through a law lecture with a handful of other “i’m the good student because i am here to learn no matter what” students?

i had and i did.
social suicide achieved.
thus, i pulled out my schedule and walked into the hallway.