It’s day one of classes, and I am already awake an hour and a half before my alarm is set to wake me up. Who said waking up in college would be a challenge . . . child’s-play. The dorm room is still dark, and my roommate is sound asleep. I’ve decided to start the year on a positive note; it’s time to hit the gym at 5 a.m., have a full hearty breakfast, spit some mad game at the new tech ladies, and scout out my classes for the day. I fling the sheets from my stringy bare body in exuberance and fling myself from the bed. But… where’s the ground?? I plummet for what feels like eternity; in my jubilation for the day, I had forgotten that my bed was raised to nearly the ceiling of the dorm room. As my frail legs crumple beneath me upon impact, a swift blackness overtakes me.
“Hit me baby one more time…” the sound of Brittney calls from my alarm like a faint voice from the Heaven’s calling me away from these mortal coils. The numbers on the clock appear as an indiscernible blur, but slowly begin to converge. 7 … 7:5 … 7:59!!!! I have one minute to get to English 111! I have been unconscious for nearly 3 hours! As I get up to run out of the door, I realize my roommate is still asleep. Normally I would try to awaken the poor wretch but there’s no time; the oracle of knowledge requests my immediate presence. I sprint from one door to the next, bounding down the athletics field. As I sprint like Mercury with wings upon my very ankles, I feel a sudden icy impact upon my face, then on my torso, and I impact the ground with the force of 1,000 suns simultaneously collapsing in the cosmos. I find myself in the midst of an early morning sprinkler assault. I slip and slide my way in desperation to the dry land, my eyes coated in a mixture of mud and green pulp.
8:01: I’m late but the teacher will be too impressed with my intelligence and wit to harbor any ill-will. I’m still blinded by a mixture of adrenaline and dandelion, but I can sense I’m on the right course. Weir Hall - that’s by Fidel, right? There’s no time to question my instincts; I bound past West Hall, nearly immobilized by the scent of B.O. and My Little Pony wafting from the halls. I tear into the building, fly up to the second floor, swing into the hallway, and bound towards the last room. I burst in thinking, “Marvel at my presence fellow freshmen, soon I will rule this school!” But before I have the chance to sit down, a burly man hands me a shovel and hardhat. “You’re late on the first day of the job,” the man says. “That means trench digging for you, señor.” And that’s when I realize I’m standing in a second floor classroom of the under-construction chemistry building.
I guess I just wasn’t cut out for college - better start learning the construction trade.