I pray it’s Wednesday, since that’s the day I have the easiest load and deal with the least amount of students. They don’t understand that their criticisms hurt and that I want to leave as much as they want me to leave …
Sadly, I realize it’s Monday. It’s 7:30 a.m. and time to get started. The first wave of students will hit around 8 a.m., then I’ll endure the language chapels that I know students only attend because they are shorter than Convo and require no effort. I dislike them.
It all begins with the hollow creaking sound the carpeted wooded floor makes when those huffing and puffing people walk through the door. They don’t understand that I simply was not built for this.
The main hallways make a rectangle, with a few offshoots, creating quite a few windowless classrooms inside. The worst one is classroom 124. It lies right at my core. With no windows close by and so deep inside, I can feel how I suffocate the students. At first I feel sorry, but then the apathy grows in me. What do I care about them for?
The first classes settle in as the last doors slam closed, rattling me completely. I don’t even understand why those doors are there; all they do is slam and creek, and might actually amplify the noise throughout the hallways.
As the classes begin, the cacophony of students trying to pronounce foreign languages in beginner classes overwhelms me. Is that Italian? No, it’s Spanish. Wait, maybe French? I used to care in the beginning, just like I cared about those silly pictures of cell phones hanging around the hallway. Oh, how the times change.
Now it’s nearing noon, another problem becomes evident — my bowel movement. I’ve tried to explain that I can’t help it. I wasn’t made to last this long under these awful conditions. However, the notoriously bad smell that clouds your hallways is only too conspicuous, and unpleasant for everyone involved.
Finally, around 6 p.m., my day begins to wind down. I just sit there. I try to make conversation with the law school and the CCB, both so shiny and odor-free, but they are both busy at work and don’t have time.
As unfortunate as my existence is, there’s one thing I can’t complain about: the beautiful Malibu sunsets. For the rest of the evening, all I do is sit there, admire the sunset, and look longingly at the sea.
“Help,” I whisper. But no one is around to hear.
