Running Late

So, I know the Bloggity Blog masses are eagerly awaiting my mini-streak post, but I won't find out if the winning streak continues until tomorrow afternoon. Until then, another blast from the past: a look back at two ridiculous instances of running late. Both of these stories happened in college, during finals. You'd think I would have learned my lesson after the first time. Nope.

Freshman year, I took Spanish and, even though I had taken four years of it in high school, still sounded like the whitest Spanish-speaking person alive. The night before the final exam I stayed up studying with a group from class and, let me tell you, it wasn't sounding good. Anyway, I woke up, hit up a Communications exam in the morning and then mosied on back to the dorm for lunch before I went to Spanish. In the cafeteria, I saw one of my study-mates, and asked if she felt ready. She stared at me like I was the crazy ex-con with a hair net serving the fries that day. "Um, the exam was at 11 a.m. this morning. Where were you?"

Crap. I ran upstairs, grabbed a friend's car keys, peeled out of the dorm parking lot and screeched into a spot right outside the classroom building. I booked it inside, and burst into the classroom, where I found Senior Perez sitting at a desk, noshing on doughnut holes, grading papers. "Ah, there you are!" Hmm. He doesn't seem at all bothered. Panting, I start talking a mile a minute, "I'm so sorry! I got the times mixed up and I ran over here as fast I as I could but..." He paused, chocolate doughnut hole in hand, and told me he understood, and that I could take it right now, but I only had a few minutes because he was leaving to catch a plane to Florida for the winter. I grabbed the test, put my name on it, managed to answer three questions before my few minutes were up. I didn't know he literally meant a few minutes. I was screwed.

Crestfallen, I told him that I had only answered three questions (out of, say thirty, fifty? I don't even know). His response, "No problemo, amiga. I'll just grade you on those questions. Let me see. Right. Right. And right. 100%. Well done." For real? I'll take it.

A year later, it happened again. I had back to back exams and, although I didn't do it often during my college career, had pulled an all-nighter the night before to write a paper. It was a rainy day, and I headed to my first exam. Done and done. I got back and started to study, but decided it would serve me better if I had a nap. so I put on a t-shirt and my favorite pair of gym shorts (which were four sizes too big) and slipped under the covers, just for a few minutes. I woke up to my phone ringing, and I answered it to hear a friend from home, asking me how my exams went. "Well, I finished one, and my next one..."

Crap. Again. I looked at the clock and I was 15 minutes late. I threw the collared shirt I had on earlier (over my bright orange t-shirt), decided I didn't have enough time to change my shorts, slipped into brown loafers, and ran out the door, through the rain, into the building, and whipped open the door to the classroom. The entire class was silently working on their exams, and the teacher, who was originally from Saugus and had that North-Shore grit, looked me up and down, before saying,"Guptill. What the hell? Get into the hallway." So, like I was in second grade, I slinked into the hallway, and flinched as the door close behind him. "Guptill, you look like sh*t. What are you wearing?"

"Um. My pajamas. And a nice collared shirt and proper shoes?" He shook his head, but I detected a slight shadow of a smile. We walked back in, with thirty pair of eyes on us. I sat down, realized I hadn't grabbed anything as I left the dorm, and had to ask a neighbor for a pen. Now this was getting comical. Twenty minutes later, I was finished. But NO ONE else was done. So, I read it over. Twice. Finally, "Guptill. Bring me your paper." Yikes. As I got up with my exam, and felt thirty pair of eyes bear down again, the orange shirt began to burn a whole rght through my heart. I handed him the paper, and stood in front of him, as he held a red pen to it. After a few minutes, he looked up and started laughing. "This is actually correct. And the essay is good! Get out of here. And put some pants on."

I was never late to another exam again. But don't count me out. I have a lot of life to be late for left in me.