I’ve Got No Class!

It was my first day of school and I was bit unnerved. After all, it’s been 50 years since I’ve taken a class at The University of Alabama.  And in that half century, everything seems to have changed. The campus has sprouted enough new buildings to make a second college. And while the core of the campus is familiar, I’m uncomfortable with a lot of  the new academic sprawl Every empty space, no matter how small, seems to have a new structure  on it. I’m sure that’s because the student population has more than doubled since I last wore a fraternity jacket. Streets I drove on don’t exist anymore; instead there are new ones that take me to parts of the campus I’ve never seen before.   Even some of the old buildings have been refaced to give the campus an  uniform look - but they’re  almost unrecognizable to me.  At least the Quad is still untouched - for now. 

The whole campus teemed with students pouring in and out of classrooms, reminding me of ants scattering from a freshly kicked ant bed.  With that sense of discomfort and excitement. I headed to the class I was auditing, Advanced Magazine Writing. Undoubtedly, this must be how a 5 year old feels on the first day of kindergarten. 

However, I was ready.  I had planned every detail to avoid making a mistake. I  analyzed the parking options - even had a backup plan.  I checked what students were wearing and dressed to blend in; I didn’t want to look like a 71 year-old grandfather going to back to college - even though I was.  I even had a backpack and an iPad - the whole paperless thing. I consulted with my son, a veteran of this particular building, to make sure I wasn’t going to look like a lost, senile, doofus wandering the halls.

Finally, I tripled checked my class schedule. Classes began on Augusr 20, Room 338. 2 PM sharp.  Armed with the confidence of preparation, I easily located my classroom, arrived 30 minutes early, and settled in to do a little writing. Within a few minutes other students trickled in, taking their seats and opening iPads. Just before 2 o’clock, a thin man appeared, and began fiddling with some controls on the wall.  Must be an AV guy, I thought.  Almost immediately, the front screen flashed to life, with the words: Advanced Video Editing.  My stomach dropped faster than the stock market after Covid. I looked my schedule again. Everything checked out, but something was wrong.  I had no choice but to make myself visible.

“Excuse me. What is this class?”  

The thin man replied, “Advanced Video Editing. What class are you looking for?”

“Advanced Magazine Writing.” I checked my schedule on my iPhone. “It says here  2 PM in Room 338, August 20.” But, something was amiss, and it was probably something I had or had not done. 

A cute blonde coed sitting beside me leaned over, pointed with a pink fingernail, and said,” I see the problem. The first day of the semester is today, Wednesday, August 20. That class is on Tuesday, which means it doesn’t start until next week.”

Barbie just hit me with a kill shot. I wanted to crawl in a hole because my greatest fear was realized.  I had taken every precaution I knew to avoid making this kind of an error.  From the clothes I wore, to the pack on my back, to checking and re-checking my schedule. I didn't want to look like an inept geezer, and yet incredibly, I missed that tiny little “t” on my schedule - the one stood for Tuesday.  Grandpaw wasn’t ready for big time.  I felt my face explode in crimson. I packed my stuff up, turned to the class and said, “What do you expect? It’s my first class in 50 years.” The room erupted in  laughter as I grabbed my pack, and made a short Walk of Shame to the door. 

Just like the senile doofus I tried so hard not to be.