school daze

Hi, everybody!

(Hi, Dr. Nick!)

I've got a request (okay, more like a demand) from one of my intrepid readers to detail my day at college. And since you know I can't turn down the request of a pretty lady, here goes.

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I'm back from the intellectual wasteland of Gainesville College in Watkinsville. I know that's a little harsh, but here's the thing: in my math class, we went over the Cartesian plane. Apparently, those who don't learn seventh grade Pre-Algebra are doomed to repeat it.

I left the house at 9:00, for a class at 10:00, not knowing what traffic would be like. Traffic is incredibly light, much lighter than you would think for a weekday at 9:00. Apparently everyone is either at work already, or has said "screw it" and called in. I still have to wait five minutes to turn onto 316.

I amble along to Watkinsville, making decent time (27 minutes). No pedestrians were harmed in the journey, so I call it a good run. I park and walk to my first class room. Since I'm over half an hour early, I find a bench to sit down on and promptly engage myself in a game of Cellphone Tetris, as I have a shitty phone and it's either that or Cellphone Arkanoid. I make it to 59 lines before it's 9:50, and I go to the door of the class (General Psychology).

Walking back to the room I see Stacie Luke, who informs me that she has the same class, but she has also been here since 7:45 for an 8:00 Biology Lab. We make small talk, mentioning the people who we've seen (Russell Norman, Brian Ellerbee). We then go in at about 9:55 and wait for scragglers.

At 10:00 on the dot Dr. Hancock walks in. He seems like a nice guy, but one you don't want to make mad. More Perry than Card, if that makes any sense to the locals. He's an ex-football player (starting nose guard at Michigan), an ex-bouncer, an ex-undercover cop, and a current cognitive psychologist. Standard first-day fare begins. We go over the syllabus, take attendance, and briefly introduce ourselves through Lipton-esque questions like "Favorite movie?", "Favorite sound?", and the one I got, "Favorite Book?". I thought about respecting my English major roots and saying "Catcher in the Rye", but I couldn't withhold my geekiness and instead said "Kingdom Come by Alex Ross".

He finishes very early (10:35 for a 10:00 - 10:50 class), and I make my way to the commons area (in the other building, where all but my first class are at) to soak in the culture and local flavor. Also, to scope out hot chicks. I see Marshall Goode, but he doesn't see me. He looks exactly the same. Horseteeth and all.

I crack open my Psychology book, glancing through the assigned reading: "Chapter One, but I don't expect you to get through it by Friday". So I finish the chapter in ten minutes, and then walk into the actual building. I stand around the door for ten minutes, because there's a class going on inside. The class ends, the people file out looking ever-so-weary, and I get a little bit of a knot in my gut. Those assembled outside the door shuffle in, and they see the same sullen expressions I do.

The teacher within cleans up, then says "Oh, your teacher's coming in a minute, I teach the class before this one." We all breathe a silent collective sigh of relief, and everyone's blood pressure descends into normal territory. The chairs are a fancier kind than we had at WBHS; they're white plastic with bendable portions in the chair back to facilitate the popular algebra gangsta-lean.

The teacher rolls in at 11:00 on the dot, although the room's clock says 9:45. Apparently, the maintenance crew has a little bit of catch-up to do. The teacher's a brash New York Italian named Diane Ruberti, with dyed brassy blond hair and an entirely-too-festive ensemble of a bright orange shirt and flower-print drawstring yoga pants. She proceeds to make a few Georgia jokes (it's too hot in the summer, it's not cold enough in the winter, y'all talk funny-like), not quite endearing herself to the roughly 30 students in the room. She does the standard syllabus rigmarole, then says "Okay, let's take some notes."

At this point, the heart drops in most of the class. I however, came prepared with a notebook, calculator, a pencil, and the actual textbook. I guess the Boy Scout indoctrination holds, even if you weren't ever really a Boy Scout. I get ready to learn, or at least pretend to look interested, and am somewhat dumbfounded by both the material and the reaction of my fellow students. To wit, basic pre-algebra and aghast horror.

We went over the names for everything on the Cartesian plane: "And does anyone know what this point is called? (complete silence) That's right, the origin. Does everyone know what this is called? (yet again, complete and utter silence) That's right, the x-axis."

I actually take notes, because I forgot to bring a real book and it might be looked on in bad taste if I start ignoring her on the first day. I'm one of perhaps half a dozen people I see taking notes; the rest gaze slack-jawed at the board.

She finishes the lesson, actually assigns homework (nine problems, all of which can be checked in the back of the book), and lets us go at 11:45.

I make my way to the car, throw my messenger bag into the passenger seat, call home to let them know I'm alright, and peel out of the parking lot. I arrive at Casa de Foster at 12:17. I'm done for the day.

I am now officially a college student. Now I just have to brush up on my beer-bonging and Ultimate Frisbee skills, go buy a hacky-sack, and bootleg some Dave Matthews concerts.

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There. Happy?