It was the crack of dawn … Well, not really. It was actually the ungodly hour of 7:30 a.m. and the booming of construction outside my dorm window had shattered any sliver of a chance for me to reenter a state of slumber. I rose only to find that the dinner I had been consuming seven hours prior had unfortunately spilled across the left side of my duvet. This was likely due to a mindless placement of the takeout container when exhaustion had replaced sanity. It was at this point at which I determined my day would be utter trash. And I was right. Why else would I title this tale of sorrow “A University Horror Story” if I were not writing about a totally trash day?
After a bit researching of how to remove soy sauce stains from cloth, and a subsequent failed attempt of following said instructions, a few miniscule disasters followed this endeavor. These mini catastrophes included, but were not limited to — Newcomb being entirely out of bagels, the zipper on my favorite jacket breaking, somehow getting pushed further back on a class waitlist I needed for my major and my handwritten homework mysteriously disappearing.
I assume my day already sounds quite horrific to you, so you might be wondering how it could possibly worsen. Would you believe that a third year could possibly get lost looking for their class? Yeah. Call me what you want, but directionless has never been something descriptive of me. Ask anyone and everyone who knows me. I’m stubborn, a bit funny on occasion and a certified “airport dad” slash “mom friend.” However, directionless has never been in my repertoire until this day commenced.
You see, I was set to have class that day at 4 p.m. I knew that the class was going to start at 4pm when the day began, and I knew it would start at 4 p.m. just 10 minutes before the judgment hour while speaking with my roommate about said class. Not a minute after, I was on my way to the class in a nonspecific building. I am too ashamed to say the name due to its well-known placement. Well, I’ll give a hint. It starts with “New” and ends with “Bell.” Don’t judge me.
So, I am making my way to this class using my trusty mapping app because even though I have taken classes in this building before, I like to know where I am headed. The cursed technology deities decided to make my day more everlastingly divine, and I soon found myself in a building confused as to why it looked… off. Maybe the construction over the summer had somehow renovated the entire inside structure without notice, or maybe I was in a completely different building as a clearly annoyed adult minding their own business would tell me not seconds after I asked if I was in the building I was looking for.
Now in a panic, I, still using the app that had gotten me lost in the first place, ran outside and in circles until I managed to find the correct building. I ran through the hall. I ran down the stairs. Found myself on the wrong floor. Climbed back to the correct floor. Found myself on the wrong side of the building. Ran to the correct side of the building. And finally, with just a minute to spare, entered the classroom only to be greeted with a dark room and empty seats.
Startled, disoriented and unsurprisingly out of breath because the fact that the most exercise I had done in the past few weeks was walking down my dorm’s three flights of stairs, I checked my phone and saw an email from the instructor sent half an hour prior to my departure from my dorm room.
Class was canceled.
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