Spring Break Hath Ended

The full realization that the Great Week of Freedom known as Spring Break had ended hit me late Sunday when I decided it was probably best to take a peek at what was on the roster for Monday. Luckily we just took an exam in Algebra the Friday before and thus had nothing to study for it, and the History class didn’t have much to do in it either. I slept well.

Then I realized halfway to morning that I had a Campus Event due by Tuesday. A Campus Event is something that one of my professors (rather devilishly) added to the syllabus that forces us students to actually shut off Youtube, step outside of our apartments and do something with ourselves. We’ve got four of these, each due at a different deadline throughout the semester, and they always seem to creep up when you least expect it. Mine crept up on me the day before it was due.

Around 3 AM, unable to sleep because of the dread, I got the campus events calender and found the only event that was left and didn’t require me dressing up as a leprechaun: an innocent-looking talk on health and time management that was coming up a good hour before my first Monday class. I’d blend in with the crowd, grab some pamphlets for evidence, and be on my merry St. Patrick’s Day way.

Unfortunately, the 1-line description of the talk failed to mention one thing. The talk wasn’t intended for students. It was meant for their aging and much-abused professors. So I show up looking for a crowd of students only to be greeted by a group of middle-aged women at the door.

“Is this the health and time management panel?” I asked, hoping to get a nay.

“Yes,” they said. I peered around the corner.

“Are there any students here?” asked I.

“No,” she replied, grinning from ear to ear. “This talk is part of the staff health benefits package. But you’re welcome to stay. We luuuvvvvvv students!”

For a moment I felt like a delectable treat in the snack tray. Still, I cautiously said I’ll stand in the back and watch so I didn’t stick out like a tortoise at an all-hare dinner party. She obliged and none-too-quietly turned to her accomplice.

“He wants to sneak out halfway through, that’s what!” I heard her say in a hoarse whisper. When you suspect every innocent bystander of spontaneously wanting to ‘sneak out the back’ anytime they’re in a room, you’ve been professorin’ too long. And ten minutes through would have been a better estimate.

Oh well, I thought, resigning to watch this talk and pick up some public speaking tips. Maybe I will move to a seat after a while.

But then she passed the handout with a little plastic card- on which to record my cholesterol, blood pressure, and where my bones ached. And the talk began. I stayed in the back. And I made this face: