I knew when I made my schedule for this semester that I totally screwed myself over as far as Mondays go. Those wretched, loathsome beasts have a place in society. They are hated. They are despised. They are not to be trifled with.
But trifle I did.
The morning starts off bright and early with a healthy dose of developmental psychology at 8:30 a.m. Now, 8:30 is not outrageous, but the professor throws a lot of big science-y words around that I assume have something to do with developmental psychology, only it’s too early to tell. The day picks up speed at 10 a.m. when I am the first to bolt from the lecture hall (I am the only one to bolt from the lecture hall, actually, because everyone else seems to have the luxury of strolling at a leisurely place) so that I can run back to French class. At this point, more big words are thrown around, but this time they are spoken entirely in a language I am just beginning to grasp. French gets out at 11 a.m., at which point I BOLT (are you noticing a pattern here?) from the building to get to Anthropology 101.
Now, the distance from my psych lecture to my French lecture is not challenging. It’s about four minutes, and I can stop to get some hot cocoa. The distance between French and anthro, on the other hand, is like the freaking Appalachian Trail. It’s twelve minutes away, which I realize makes my Appalachian Trail comparison sound like the mother of all exaggerations, but it’s twelve minutes away and I only have eight minutes to get there! EIGHT MINUTES! This is like being told that instead of taking the average 6 months to walk the AT, you only have 4. Okay, okay. So I’m exaggerating. BUT COME ON. Just… okay?
So the race is on! I sprint across the street, wading through a veritable SEA of slow-walking students. I dodge the squirrels, the people riding bikes, the people passing out flyers, and the dude jamming on his harmonica. I do not stop for cocoa. I do not stop to change the song on my iPod. Morale is low as I enter the building, sprint up some stairs, and explode into the lecture hall. The problem with having a lecture hall with 400ish students is that, if you’re late, you invariably wind up playing Where’s Waldo with the very sparse amount of available seats. There will only be one empty seat as far as the eye can see, and of course it will be in the middle of the row, so you must climb over some people and step on their things.
But the day’s not over yet! After THAT I must BOLT from class and run back to my original building to have lunch with my French class, where we all speak French. By the time I roll into a second French class at 2:00, all vestiges of French knowledge have exited my brain, and my professeur is not impressed with me.