Welcome Back

Your car is parked like a Mega Block in a Lego building. A remake of Tokyo Drift is being filmed in Parking Lot K as you close your door. You somehow make it alive out of the parking lot and survey the campus looking for directions to your class, building, college, major and possibly your identity.

Hopping over feet as if attending Super Mario Bros Community College, you make it into a building with directions provided to you by a man who is probably only on campus to search for either drug clientele or cigarettes.

You walk into the dimly lit hallways, which “Shutter Island” seems to have inspired. Once you’ve reached your 8 a.m. class at 9 p.m, students gather at the door and create a cheerleading pyramid fire hazard. Your classmates are dressed in espresso stained gym clothes and pajama bottoms that likely implies that they enjoy either underage drinking or Spongebob.

Complaints reverberate like the alarm clock left on ‘beep’ set four hours before getting ready for class. As you wait for the teacher to not arrive, your mind looms back in time. Your digestive system decides to reenact Pearl Harbor and you finally realize why Cosmic Brownies are not in the same aisle as Unisom.

The peers surrounding you split up into groups like “Orange Is The New Black” combined with “The Walking Dead.” Conversations are limited to 140 characters. High school alumni huddle together like the reunion of an awful Teen Nick sitcom cancelled after two episodes.

Your professor actually arrives and an orchestra of moans starts chanting “I could’ve slept til’ the sun came up (in reverse).” You decide your seat by looking for areas the least affected by flatulence fallout. Your professor flaunts her new beard with pride.

Red Bulls and coffees are placed to mark every hotspot of foot traffic within the room.

As the professor divulges cell phone policy, more mobile devices are present under desks than front-row seating at a SPAC concert.

The professor proceeds to spend the next twenty minutes of class saying “I’m not good with names” and learning what Microsoft Powerpoint is. You’ve picked the most uncomfortable desk in the entire building. You wonder if your desk served as an interrogation device during the Spanish Inquisition. The forty minute class is seemingly neverending.

Lacking a writing utensil or a book that costs the annual GDP of a small nation is an unjustifiable offense upon arrival. The pencil you are handed has been chewed like unfinished corn on the cob.

The classroom door is breached five minutes before class ends. “I’m sorry I’m late,” booms the deep voice of an individual that has used the same tone since puberty hit in second grade.

As the professor dismisses the class, a soccer riot erupts. Students turn into hooligans. Another group of students waiting next to the doorway give you looks so dirty that warts begin to form around your eyelids.

The teacher pulls you aside. There was an error in WiRED. The only class you were scheduled for today doesn’t start for another seven hours.

Welcome back.

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