Worst case scenarios

Have you ever had one of those days? You know what I’m talking about, one of those days that was so biblically horrible that the Dark Ages look like a pleasant vacation. Now imagine experiencing that day on the first day back to school.

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! A minimal amount of light flits in through my eyelids as they slowly open and close. I try discerning the numbers as they flash annoyingly. A nine, a three, and either a two or a five. My heart stops. Jumping out of bed I grab a shirt and some pants. “9:30! 9:30?,” i think to myself, “How could I sleep in until nine-thirty on the first day of school?” My room becomes a tornado of clothes, school supplies, and a backpack somewhere.

Finally, I am presentable enough that I can go outside. I look back at my clock to see the numbers have tauntingly morphed to 9:47. Damn! Only 13 minutes until my boring English professor starts my first class of the day. I start my trek to the car by going down the stairs and notice that like usual, Oregon was pulling out all the stops for our first day back. Not only is there rain, but it just has to be windy enough for it to lurch sideways, leaving no way to stay dry. As I hurry, my sneaker comes out from under me, making my only destination the puddle next to my front steps. I catch myself slightly on a tree next to the steps. My entire right calf is soaking wet. I look up in rage: “Seriously?!”

By the time I reach my car I’m soaking. I start the ignition, my clock blinks on. “Nine minutes! Shoot!”

Speeding to the college, I choose to bypass a few pesky lights and keep heading up Glisan. Praying for the cops to be on a donut break, I press the gas pedal a little further. I check the clock as I’m forced to a stop  at a red light: six minutes, “I just might make it.” That’s when I see the lights. These red and blue lights might as well have drivenv straight out of a M. Night Shyamalan movie. I look to my right and see Reynolds High and inwardly curse myself as my forehead slumps to my wheel.

Thirty minutes later, after a breathalyzer –– at 10 a.m.(!) I might add–– touching my nose while hopping on one foot, and the oh-so-classic walk in a straight line, the officer finds me to not be intoxicated (shocker). But I still get the silver medal, a whopper of a speeding ticket.

Now, at this point most people just might go home back to bed, but most people don’t have the determination of a fighting bull. I try to embrace my inner ninja as I slowly creep into my English class. In my adrenaline induced sneakiness, I hear my professor say something that sounds like a cross between pig latin and gibberish. However, it doesn’t sound like my name, so I dismiss it, continuing to an open seat. I leave a trail worse than bread crumbs with my puddle-soaked pant leg, making the two people I pass grimace up at me. As I finally take my seat, I take out my notebook and exhale a sigh of relief. Then I notice it, the deafening silence that feels all encompassing sitting in the back of the class. I dread looking up. As my gaze rises the classroom fully comes into view.

I immediately realize the mistake I had made. First of all, my professor was, in fact, speaking to me and it iss all too evident now that he was not speaking in gibberish. My head falls to my desk as I realize that everybody in the class is looking at me, waiting for my next move. All I could do was repeat the name on the whiteboard in my head with increasing dread. Hoping, praying, Mr. Takashimora was an English teacher.