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The College Years (Chapter 6)
By Vader
THE COLLEGE YEARS
Entry I: The Beginning
Continued from Chapter 5 . . .
CHAPTER 6
I entered a three story building, and after searching through numerous hallways, I found the auditorium where the scheduled Personal Growth group was to meet. The design of the building’s interior was so confusing, I can not even recollect that exact number of that classroom. As I entered, I saw that the session had conveniently started ten minutes before it should have, making me late, and the instructor (who was decked in strips of all different sorts of material, lined with beads that clicked together as she moved) was in the middle of what she probably considered teaching. In truth, it was something so different, I still can’t think of a word to give it.
“I want all of you,” she told the class, spreading her arms like she was trying to fly in slow motion, “To take a very . . . deep . . .breath. Before you exhale, I want you to look deep inside yourselves . . . and pull out the aura that is your inner self. Explore it, tug on it, wrap yourselves around it, and pull it out.” She waited with her eyes closed, expecting each student in the room to be doing so. “Doesn’t that feel wonderful? This is what I want you to do each time you read a chapter from your textbooks. Each class period we will write descriptions about our explorations within ourselves, how we can improve, and you will be graded on your amount of vivid detail. All semester we will do this, and by December, you’re going to really want to give each other huge . . . giant . . . hugs because we’ll have gotten to know each other so well.”
The uninterested and unenthusiastic students all shifted in their seats with moans that were more seen than heard. At that point, the instructor noticed me, and extended her boney hand outward. “Please, take a seat,” she smiled with crooked, brownish teeth. I found myself backing away.
“Now hold on just one second – I was under the impression this would be about study skills,” I answered, doing my best not to scowl.
“It is!” she raised both her voice and her arms. “That is entirely the point! And we will reach the ultimatum of becoming the best students we can be through this method of self-examination!” After freezing herself in that one position for a bit, she returned to a more normal posture. “Oh, and if you intend to drop this class, please inform me before doing so.” Her words couldn’t have had better timing.
“I’m dropping,” I told her with definition in my voice, viewing her more as a cartoon character than anything that could be taken seriously. “I’ve just decided my time will be better spent in another class.” Immediately, at least ten other students stood up from their seats in agreement. The teacher appeared obviously annoyed, grinding her top and bottom jaw together so hard, it must have sounded like nails on a chalkboard inside her mouth.
She didn’t need to tell us to be gone before we actually were. After basking in the good feeling of ridding myself of such a class, I realized the consequences of my decision to drop – I would have to replace it with yet another course, since I had already paid for a total of four classes and twelve units. To go through the process of getting a refund wasn’t an ordeal I even wanted to consider, and to not have a forth class this semester would leave a gaping hole in, not only my schedule, but my long-term plan.
Doing my best to think fast, I whipped out the crumpled map from my pocket, which I’d used to refer to earlier, and quickly located the scribbles that listed which basic classes I would need to take for my degree while finding the corresponding times in my course catalog. It couldn’t have been more perfect – a Health class in the very same time slot as that ridiculous Personal Growth.
Now I would have to rush in order to beat all the other first-day crashers.
I stepped over to a nearby phone booth, digging into my pants to scavenge for coins. Noticing that the booth proclaimed a 3 minute phone call would be thirty-five cents, I conjured enough money to make it and poured it in, afterwards picking up the phone from the hook and dialing the number. Before I could finish pressing buttons, a cheery voice told me, “Please deposit the fee!” Realizing I’d put the money in before I took up the phone, I hurriedly took another thirty-five cents to follow those instructions. “Please deposit thirty more cents!” What?! I grunted, annoyed the booth didn’t frame the correct amount needed to make a call, and put my last bit of change inside. “Thank you!” the voice sounded so genuinely appreciative, it was hilarious. I re-dialed the number, expecting someone to answer, only to hear a catchy little chime, followed by: “Your call could not be completed as dialed. Please hang up and try again with the area code included!” Oh, Damn it!
I slammed the phone down, not knowing what to do. I had no more money, my parents had the cell phone, and the offices were not permitted to allow students to use the phones. I angrily ran my hands through my hair when I heard voice from behind. “Need a phone? That booth is a bitch,” a young man offered his cell to me. I spun around and gratefully accepted.
“Thanks dude, you’re a life saver. I’ll be quick,” I accepted, re-dialing the number for what seemed like the thousandth time, and was able to cancel my personal growth class through the student services line. One down, two to go. I tossed the cell phone back to the student and gave another thanks, dashing across the center of the campus to head for the Health Education facilities, my heart pounding, my lungs gasping for air. I spotted the upcoming faculty offices, kicked open the front door, and slid down the hallway to the office of the instructor I would need to speak to – Dr. Hopkins.
Only then, after my frenzy had died down, did I realize she wouldn’t be in her office – she would be at the room in which the class I wanted to crash was about to be held. “Idiot!” I whispered to myself, as I backtracked and blew out the doors like a silver bullet, making a bee-line to the auditorium right across the sidewalk. My pupils flashed down to my wrist watch, seeing through the glare of the hot mid-day September sun that I only had a few minutes before the class was set to begin.
I realized my failure the moment I stepped inside. Ten other crashers were in a line before me, all talking to the teacher, and all getting add codes. The place was jam-packed, and the expression on my face that indicated excitement must have dimmed noticeably. It was then that Dr. Hopkins, who was a short, fatty, and stubby middle-aged woman (quite the persona for a Health teacher) took notice of me. “If you’re here to crash . . .” she paused, with her eye twitching, as if she were delaying a tremendous disappointment, “. . . you got here just in time. There’s only one slot left.”
Nothing could have eased my mind more than those words. Within the next few moments, I was handed a code that would allow me to be added, and the period began. I couldn’t get over how lucky I was in securing my place in that group. By all appearances, the instructor was an easy-going person who would likely conduct a pleasant course. By appearances, that is.
(More to come)
12/25/2002 11:56:55 PM
(Updated: 12/26/2002 1:56:20 AM)
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