The dread of having a class on a Friday afternoon (especially before a three-day weekend, which I’ve never had in college) was really hitting as I ran down the stairs of my dorm in hopes I’d get to class on time. For those who don’t know, I live on the 4th, and highest, floor of Finn. My math class was in O’Connor Hall, which, like a good sum of my classes this quarter, was on the complete other side of campus. Despite the slight comfort I had in knowing that this school isn’t exactly large, it was quite the gut punch to see that the first thing I’d see upon exiting the stairs wasn’t exactly an open path leading to the outside, but rather a bunch of cameras and people wearing SCU merchandise holding SCU signs.

Of course. They’re here to film in SCU’s best dorm. Shite.

Upon making it to the bottom of the staircase, I’d stand there for a moment in awe and confusion, as, despite being a dorm resident, I hadn’t been notified. And sure enough, they took up the entire walkway.

Do I wait? I checked my wristwatch only to be hit with the realization that I had 10 minutes to get to class.

More shite.

The only way out of my situation was to take the elevator, which I had decided not to take for the sake of speed (imagine just idly standing there waiting for the elevator when you only have 10 minutes to get to class on the other side of campus), as exiting from the elevator would allow me the grandeur of being able to bypass all the filming and head out the side door exit that most took to get to Safeway.

Looking around in panic as I tried to process all the thoughts in my head (imagine being late on the first week!) not knowing if I was allowed to quickly get through or if I’d have to head back up the stairs or just wait, I’d catch a glimpse of someone I believed to have been a CF mouthing or attempting to mouth what I believed to have been the words We’re almost done.

I wasn’t too sure. In my head, I was just screaming, I can't, I won't, I can’t. Point at my wrist watch. Point at the door. Motion running.

Class.

I made my way back up the stairs in an attempt to catch the elevator, only to wait what felt like an eternity in my state of panic. By the time the elevator got to the first floor (with me in it), the filming seemed to have wrapped up.

Good riddance, I thought. Triple shite.

I darted, dashed, and hustled out the door (oh, the use of verbs is the only means of delight in this one) only to sprint (more like hobbled and wobbled) across campus, constantly trying to find a shortcut that wasn’t going to come, only to somehow make it to class on time.

Phew! Enough exercise; I thought only to let out a massive sigh. The students in this class are probably wondering what’s wrong with me. I sat down in a vacant seat (sitting down not too long after darting across campus—it’s strenuous exercise—is definitely not the move) only to realize a good portion of my class hadn’t arrived either. Worse yet, my professor hadn’t arrived. Well, it’s 45. (Class began at 4:45.) Being the wonderful student I was, I got set up with my notebook and pen, only to watch as minutes passed and then more.

Well…

46.

Well…

47.

Welh…

50…

Then, through the doors, walking ever so idly, coffee in hand, he came.