Today was the first day back from Spring Break. And the first day after Daylight Savings Time. From the minute my alarm started screaming at me, I knew it was going to be "one of those days." Sigh. Well, I rolled out of my bed...right onto the floor. That always hurts. I ate my breakfast in a rather zombie-like manner. I even pretended that my cereal was brains. It was actually some sugar-coated goodness but, hey, who cares?
Then I arrived at school. Somehow those buildings grew over Spring Break. Maybe I shrunk. I really didn't think that I could get any shorter. I followed the trail of student bodies crawling to their early morning classes, and dragged myself into my first class. I was late. There was only one desk open. It was on the front row. Of course. So I sat down in it. It is the desk that the professor feels the need to stand directly in front of to lecture. Bad news. My day got worse. His fly was down. I couldn't avoid seeing it. It was there. Shirt hanging out the unzipped area and everything. Awkward.
So, early in the morning, in my first class, in an unfortunate seat, I was facing a moral dilemma. Do I tell my prof. that his zipper is down? Or not? To zip or not to zip? I looked around the class. Surely there were other people seeing this. Yup. The dude on the fourth row back was nudging his buddies and pointing. What to do? I could just leave my poor professor exposed to the ridicule of his merciless students, he probably deserved it anyway. But I was uncomfortable. Should I raise my hand and say: "Excuse me professor, XYZPDQ!" No. I couldn't do that. Should I pass him a note? What should it say? I know: "Dear Professsor, your fly is down. Please zip it up. Or leave the room. Do I get extra credit for telling you this?" No. So I kept my eyes down for the rest of the class.
It was a good thing too. From my unfortunate seat, I had to crane my neck up to see the professor's face. I still couldn't see his face. He's a tall dude. And he was leaning over my seat. I could only see up his nose. He must have allergies because no one can have boogers sculpted like little flowers in their nose unless that's what they're allergic to...right? And he needed to trim the hair up there. Donald Trump would be jealous of what that man had up his nose. Incredible. Really.
Could this day get any worse? I regret even asking the question. Of course it could. It's like in the movies when they say that it can't get any worse and it starts raining. It didn't start raining, but I did suffer a gas attack. Now, I'm not pointing any fingers, but my professor's fly WAS down and that does make for a pretty good air vent which makes it easy for a smell to escape. It was a deadly smell. So, I did what all girls do in such situations. I put some lotion on and began to sniff my hands desperately. It didn't help. Now, it just smelled like a floral scented fart. I watched the clock. I think it was dead. Daylight Savings is bad for clocks too.
Finally, the time came when I could leave my class. I rushed out of the room, almost tripping and falling down a flight of stairs. I could breathe! I was alive! Freedom! And then, I heard it, a voice coming from behind me. Could it be an angel? "Hi! My name is Bob." It wasn't an angel. I could tell. I don't think angels wear shirts that say, "Nerds R Hot" and hold in their hands an assortment of Pokemon and Digimon cards. Welcome back from Spring Break. The end is near.
