You know those awful classrooms we have on the 8th floor, the ones that look kind of like a box, with five long, narrow rows cascading down towards the front, and then on each side of the classroom are three rows, all perfectly perpendicular to the ones in the middle, looming above like some kind of balcony?
Well, today I got to the first class early, because I had nothing to do, in order to secure one of the balcony seats. Why? Because you have an easy exit, you’re far away from the professor, and you can people-watch. All of these are necessary factors when surviving law school classes.
So I get an excellent spot, right next to the door, and happily wait for class to start. And the classroom fills up, and I’m sitting there, on the balcony, like a lord of all creation.
And then the professor comes in, takes one look at the balconies, and says, you know what, I don’t want anyone sitting in the wings. Why don’t you come on down and sit in the middle rows?
BLAST.
Fine. I’ll move to the middle rows. I grab my stuff, and start looking for a new seat.
All seats are taken, except for one in the middle in the front row.
DOUBLE BLAST.
OK. It’s the first day. There’s no way these seats are final. Nobody passes out a seating chart on the first day.
“OK,” says the professor. “Here’s the seating chart. You’ll be expected to keep this seat for the whole semester.”
BLAST THIS ALL TO HELL.
So here I am, the schmuck sitting front row, center. The professor is five feet away from me. There is no escape. I might actually have to pay attention.
Avenge me.
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