Root

Day 8: This morning, I woke up to 60 degree weather and firemen just outside my door. Last night's rain and high winds had destroyed a transformer across the street. I walked out to my car and saw the road was blocked with cones and caution tape, and a lone burly fireman stood in the middle of the street in introspective repose. 

"Wow. Hello there," I said. 

"Hello there!" came a chorus of voices to my right. There were six other firemen that were just out of view. One of them waved. 


Thursday was off to a great start.

I showed up early to Spanish to make up a quiz that I missed thanks to the near miss I had on Tuesday. I had no idea what would be on the quiz and had no idea if I was prepared or not. I sat down and took a deep breath, opting to trust in the work and study I had already put in. I finished the quiz in less than 10 minutes, and turned it in before I could second guess myself. 

Maybe half of the kids showed up to class today. The time eked by as we took turns massacring the language. Halfway through class, our Spanish teacher abandoned correcting our pronunciations. Ten minutes before class ended, she reminded us that we still have until February 4th to drop the class without getting a "W". She was looking directly at one student in particular when she said this, the same student who managed to work "pantalones" or "bicicleta" into conversation in some transitively vulgar and childish way. We were already two weeks in and he was running out of ideas, but persisted with the idiot determination of a frat boy repeatedly trying and failing to crush a beer can on his forehead. 

I couldn't help but root for him.

In Statistics, the crowd was also unexpectedly thin. Whereas on the first day, I struggled to find a seat, today I had absolutely no problem. I could have sat right up front if I wanted. I felt a great disturbance in the class, as if millions GPAs cried out in terror and were suddenly silenced.

...or something like that.

The kid to my right whistled to himself and texted for the duration of the class. Twice, I looked over at him in an effort to get his attention. Both times, he continued texting and whistling. I finally whispered, "I'm pretty sure all of this is going to be on the exam." He jumped, as if he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar, and went to take his notebook from his backpack. Once it was on the table, he leaned back, put in headphones, and starting singing under his breath.

Good for him.

As class drew to a close, I got an email from my Spanish class. My quiz grade had been posted online. It took everything I had to focus in for the last 3 minutes of class.

Walking toward the Student Union, I checked my quiz grade on my tablet.

Score: 105

I nailed it.

I cheered and celebrated with Wendy's.

Afterward, I had a look around parts of the Student Union that were entirely new to me, including the Rainbow Center, The Women's Center, The African American Cultural Center [AACC], and a fairly swanky game room. The AACC was especially warm and welcoming. Also they have a piano. Two of them. I can see myself spending a lot of time there.

On the way to my car, I checked my quiz grade one more time, just to be sure.

Score: 105

I smiled all the way home.