Pathetically Professing

This is a long one, so hold on tight.

I don't take pride in discussing my professors so often. Or seeking them out so much. I don't even like them that much. But today, I conversed with six of my professors, all outside of class hours. I don't even take six classes. And I had only planned on seeing 1.5 of them. All this, is thanks to Professor The Sketch (whose actual name is Bell. This will become important later in the story. Much later. Let's call her BSketch from now on. )

You know that lonely feeling you get when you're locked out of your house or your room? Of wanting to be on the inside, but placed so exlusively on the outskirts? Well, it's thrice the loneliness when you're locked out of all three doors to the department offices you work for on campus. Not a forgotten key or forbidden meeting- everyone went out for something and I showed up for work all alone. Lost. Directionless. Now a normal person in my shoes would take advantage of the free time to read, relax, and maybe catch up on work. Not I. I headed to Riley House- home of the Sociology and Anthropology department, leaving my backpack and jacket at the Office. My defense? The department was the closest building on campus and I had to see BSketch anyway.

It's thirty minutes before The Sketch's office hours and I think, that's ok, she should be there anyway. See where this is going? She's not there. I check my email. Still not there. I go see Band Man (right next door) instead, though reluctantly, 'cause I'd already seen him on Monday. Ask him a quick question. Explain that I don't mean to show up at his office every other day, but circumstances gave me no choice. May have been labeled a "regular" in his office. Also possible that I suggested it'd be good if he got so sick he cancels class tomorrow.

Fifteen minutes to BSketch's office hours. Go downstairs. Check email again. Twiddle thumbs outside of her office. Chat with Prof. Riley (whose office is also right next door), who pities me for waiting for BSketch. Band Man walks by, "Can't you just leave already?" "I was hoping you'd walk by." "Do you just live here?" "I have to see BSketch, all right?"

Fast forward another twenty minutes. Still locked out of work. (Left my bag at the office. Too lazy to climb the stairs for them, so I had nothing to read/occupy myself.) It's BSketch's office hours, yet office door remains stubbornly shut. Longest student conference ever. Had I put my heart in it, I probably could've solved world hunger with that time. But no. More chats with Riley. Thumbs sore from twiddling. Bored, I go see Band Man again. "You've got to stop coming in. You're just stalking me now." "Look, I don't know why her office hours are so much more popular than yours." More chats about sociology, on the grounds research, and "what the f' will humility do?" (I'm not censoring here. He actually said the letter ef and he was equally worked up. It was very funny.). Then, I just give up. "I'm done bothering you, I'm going to try my other B professor again." "I'd like to think of myself as the A one." "Nope. Gonna stick with B."

Can you guess it? Was BSketch's door open? I scoff at your naivete. In dismay, head downstairs to check my email again. Resigned to return to work (office doors now open, copies await me), I step out of the lab and who do I see but BSketch, standing by the door. "You here to see me?" And I silently follow her back up the stairs.

That's ninety minutes of my life sociology owes me and I demand it repaid. Anthropology can pitch in too, but at a higher interest rate. Of course, no time can undo the damage of shifting my image from curious student to ultimate ardent stalker student in Band Man's eyes, or shifting from great potential as social researcher to pathetic pity waiting for help in Riley's eyes. So maybe Sociology ought to repay me in cash.