I’ll admit it, I was starting to get a little bored over the winter intercession, but nothing beats waking up without the worry of a ten page paper being due tomorrow or having your powerpoint presentation ready. My mind floods as my alarm clock welcomes me to the start of a new semester. I get up, throw on leggings (because jeans don’t exist anymore), grab a granola bar, and leave an hour early.
Ah, the morning gridlock on campus, I didn’t miss that. I find a spot three lots away from the building my class is in. Walking in-between the gridlock should be an olympic sport. Finally, I make it to Hagedorn Hall, truck up two flights of stairs and walk to room 209. In the hall I see a few familiar faces. I overhear them talking about the professor. Nobody’s had him before and we’re debating if he’s going to be “nice or not.”
A dude, the professor, swipes his ID card and opens room 209. I walk in and sit in the second row from the front. The air is stale in room 209.
“Are you excited? Because I’m excited!” says my marketing professor.
It’s nine in the morning and the first day of the new semester, I can assure you nobody is jumping for joy. As he starts to take attendance I can hear the deep despair in each “here.” Looking around the room I spy students typing away on their phones. The professor steps out of the room for a moment and tells us to pass out the packets on his desk. I open twitter.
Then a syllabus plops on my desk and I sigh at the sight of it being six pages. “There’s no turning back now” I tell myself.