Friday, October 3, 2008

VICT'RY IS (not) MINE!

I have econ daily from 11:00 - 11:50 in room 109 of the Shaw-Smyser building on campus. It's as far away from my apartment as it could possibly be. I leave around 10:35 every morning to get there by about 10:50. I walk at a brisk pace. Even my "chill" walk is still faster than those around me. This is all completely irrelevant, actually, let's move on.
On the first day of classes this term (last Wednesday) I showed up early for my class. As I was entering the room, two males were exiting. One was clearly a student and the other was a rather attractive, well-dressed individual (who is a non-tenured professor). The two started a conversation outside the door. I made no attempts to hide the greed in my face as I watched the latter of the two. I liked the way he dressed, which was casual but clean: a well-pressed button-down shirt over nicely fitted jeans, a messenger bag slung casually across his chest. His hair is rather sandy blonde and a bit mussy, and he has fabulously trendy box-framed glasses which perfectly suit his face. He has a slight build, which I prefer in men, but with definition and angular features. He has beautiful wrists (sorry, I'm a forearm/wrist/hand girl), and lightly tanned skin. He's well-spoken, has a clear, warm voice, and is clearly one of those attractively authoritative people (not the kind that demean and command a room, but rather allow you to look up to them by simply being correct).
This morning I intentionally dressed well, left the apartment early (well, I attempted to, anyway), and force-marched the 9/10 of a mile to my building. In a complete flurry, sweating from the turtleneck/jacket combo, but feeling energized and "brightened by the exercise" I nearly skipped down the hall toward the classroom, ready to wait patiently for him to exit the room so I could flash him a warm and inviting smile. As I neared the doorway, however, my disappointment mounted, as I could clearly see the door was open. I was momentarily hopeful that not all of the class had left, and that the professor was still gathering his things as I walked into the room. I looked expectantly to my left, determined that he should be standing there beside the board. Alas, he was not. Thoroughly disappointed, thoroughly irritated, and thoroughly overheating, I plopped myself dejectedly into my seat at the back of the class, where I spent the next hour looking hopefully up through the windows and at the doorway, inventing in my mind multiple reasons for him to return to the classroom. Perhaps he'd forgotten his pen at the desk? He'd taken a different route to get to his next destination, or had been sent on an errand by his department. No such luck.
And so, dear readers, I resign myself to disappointment. On Monday, when I finally trot off to class, I will undoubtedly be early enough to see him leave the classroom. I will probably be able to catch his eye, or smile at him. But of course he's probably married. If not married, then taken. If not taken, then abides by a strict no-student dating policy. While I flatter myself that I'm a moderately attractive, funny, mature young adult, I am still a student. I'm older by several years than most of my classmates, but I'm not yet 23. He is probably in his mid thirties, probably lives with a girlfriend or a fiancee. Or perhaps, with his mother. *Duhn duhn duuhn*!

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