RE: Lecture Hall Dreaming

I'm revisiting my post from last year in regards to big lecture halls. What's that you say? You don't remember that one, and it's not in the archives? Bummer. Maybe you can read it in an upcoming e-book or something. That, ladies and gentlemen, is what we in the writing universe call foreshadowing. I think. Maybe it's not. I'm done referencing it in this post, so I'm not sure if it's actually foreshadowing. Perhaps it's a cliffhanger. Hmm, starting out with a cliffhanger seems like a literary faux pas. Oh well. I'm starting out with a cliffhanger, and there's nothing you can do about it.

Anyway, in my original post about lecture halls, I mentioned that I sat in on about ten minutes of a class I thought was "Housekeeping 101," and that if I ever had a class in a big lecture hall I would either be super interested, pretend to be super interested and totally space out, or fall asleep. I mentioned other things, too, I'm sure, but those probably aren't important because I can't really remember them. Well, this semester I have not one, not two, not four, not five, six, or even seven classes in a big lecture hall. That's right - I have three. One of which is the class I thought was "Housekeeping 101." Turns out, it's actually Lifespan Development, and the professor starts every class with "Housekeeping," which is just a slide on the PowerPoint with announcements about the class. Regardless, my mind was completely blown the first time I saw that slide. It was kind of like a dream-come-true moment (If you've read my "Dream Come True" post, you're probably thinking I have the lamest dreams in the world).

As far as what I would do if I had a class in a big lecture hall, that second option I listed is exactly what happens. I always look like I'm really interested - I pretty much make a 1 with my left hand and then rest my chin on the thumb, with my index finger going up my cheek - but I think things like "What size shamrock shake should I get," "Do I have any more brats in the freezer," "When's the last time I had breakfast," or "I bet if I met Ricky Rubio, we'd be best friends." Just to clarify, the thought about brats - I mean bratwursts. Every time.

In retrospect, I have no idea why I so desperately wanted to have a class in a 300-person lecture hall. It's not that great. The best thing is that the professor wears a microphone, so sometimes I pretend like I'm at a concert. A really, really boring concert with an old, lackluster performer, whose songs don't rhyme and are all a cappella. As one would imagine, tickets for such a concert are not cheap.