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Shryock auditorium, SIU Carbondale IL, circa 1982. |
Awkward College Class Moment
I hurried to my College Freshman English Composition class by taking a shortcut through Thompson Woods from the Phys Ed building. My hair was still wet from my quick shower after the morning's Gen. Ed. Swim class.
Thanks to my shortcut, I arrived along with some other near stragglers and I took a seat at the back of the classroom. My desk was one of the typical 70s era, plastic and chrome wrap-around slab writing surface jobbers that filled the room. To my right, also along the wall, I noticed another student whose face I remembered from previous classes. Blond, and a bit taller than me, he had a Chicagoan accent. More than half of the students at my school were from Chicago. So that was not unusual. I couldn't remember his name but I never saw him outside of this class so I didn't care.
Our English Comp prof was a 30-something, tall, trim bespectacled man who made me think of Ernest Hemingway. Gruff, with a bushy mustache and no-nonsense style, he could sometimes say things that made the class laugh. Which we were doing when I noticed the blond Chicagoan looking at me. He was mouthing some question that I couldn't decipher. I assumed he was saying something like, "Isn't that prof a riot?" or something like that in context. I just nodded and smiled. Which made him smile all the more.
This happened again while the class was laughing at something I can't remember. Chicago guy said something I couldn't hear and I just nodded and smiled. I thought, "Wow, this guy never has talked to me before and now he's trying to make conversation." I actually was thinking it was a nice friendly gesture and made a note to myself to talk to him after class.
Afterwards, I approached him as I was pulling my backpack strap over my shoulder. He was still smiling at me and I smiled back.
"So is it true?" He said
"Is what true?" --me still smiling but now quizzical
"You're stoned?"
Now my smile is faded, "What? No! Why do you say that?"
"You just had that look....I mean... your eyes are red and you have that goofy grin."
At this point, I had to laugh nervously. "No, man! I just got out of swim class and my eyes are allergic to chlorine!"
"Oh....Are you sure?"
"I'm not stoned." I said heading for the door, not wanting to be late for my next class.
So much for friendly gestures.
I hurried to my College Freshman English Composition class by taking a shortcut through Thompson Woods from the Phys Ed building. My hair was still wet from my quick shower after the morning's Gen. Ed. Swim class.
Thanks to my shortcut, I arrived along with some other near stragglers and I took a seat at the back of the classroom. My desk was one of the typical 70s era, plastic and chrome wrap-around slab writing surface jobbers that filled the room. To my right, also along the wall, I noticed another student whose face I remembered from previous classes. Blond, and a bit taller than me, he had a Chicagoan accent. More than half of the students at my school were from Chicago. So that was not unusual. I couldn't remember his name but I never saw him outside of this class so I didn't care.
Our English Comp prof was a 30-something, tall, trim bespectacled man who made me think of Ernest Hemingway. Gruff, with a bushy mustache and no-nonsense style, he could sometimes say things that made the class laugh. Which we were doing when I noticed the blond Chicagoan looking at me. He was mouthing some question that I couldn't decipher. I assumed he was saying something like, "Isn't that prof a riot?" or something like that in context. I just nodded and smiled. Which made him smile all the more.
This happened again while the class was laughing at something I can't remember. Chicago guy said something I couldn't hear and I just nodded and smiled. I thought, "Wow, this guy never has talked to me before and now he's trying to make conversation." I actually was thinking it was a nice friendly gesture and made a note to myself to talk to him after class.
Afterwards, I approached him as I was pulling my backpack strap over my shoulder. He was still smiling at me and I smiled back.
"So is it true?" He said
"Is what true?" --me still smiling but now quizzical
"You're stoned?"
Now my smile is faded, "What? No! Why do you say that?"
"You just had that look....I mean... your eyes are red and you have that goofy grin."
At this point, I had to laugh nervously. "No, man! I just got out of swim class and my eyes are allergic to chlorine!"
"Oh....Are you sure?"
"I'm not stoned." I said heading for the door, not wanting to be late for my next class.
So much for friendly gestures.
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