I've been wanting to enroll in an introductory Economics course during my past three years in college but never had room in my schedule to do so, unless I wanted to wake up for a 9:30 a.m. section on Fridays (the thought of which, though obviously thrilling, made me want to carve an imprint of my body in my mattress and burrow among the bits of cotton inside to only emerge for mealtime). I also heard the class involved unnecessary amounts of work and commitment, two items not at the top of the list of Things I Excel At. During the last ten minutes of my registration appointment, however, I found an ECN 203 lecture that only met twice a week during reasonable hours and, from what I heard from a friend in the class, was taught by a harmless, easygoing professor. I happily enrolled.
Now, let me share a little bit about aforementioned friend. Her name is Jaehee, and she is crazy. Not in a would-plead-insanity-in-court kind of crazy (though I wouldn't put it past her), but the more charmingly unfiltered, fearless type who still warrants a raised eyebrow and "WTF?" in her direction every so often. I attended my first class and since the course had started a week earlier, tried to see how I could catch up on the material. I quickly figured out that this wouldn't be happening. Why? There wasn't enough material to actually be caught up on because a) this professor was asked last-minute to teach the course and didn't have a proper schedule of content we'd be covering and b) he spoke with a thick foreign accent that brought the already incomprehensible economic jargon to new heights of incomprehensibility. Oh, and he also insisted on writing notes on a chalkboard and removing his ashy scribbles with an eraser that left behind large white traces, rendering any future written information totally unreadable.
Overall though, he was a well-meaning guy who was just hopelessly ill-prepared to teach this course. And he didn't take attendance, so.. you know how that goes. I was all set to skip today's class to finish up some work for the one I had afterwards, but I ran into Jaehee during a snack break (something we both often indulge in) and through her powers of coercion and deceptive physical strength, was dragged to class with her. After about 15 minutes into lecture though, we determined that we would most assuredly not be learning anything for the next 65 and considered how we could exit without making a scene. Other students got up and left periodically but we had stupidly chosen seats smack dab in the middle of a row near the back of the lecture hall. This conversation ensued:
J: Next time he turns around, we're just going to climb over these seats and RUN FOR IT!!!
We threw our bags behind our seats to prepare for the getaway and scanned the premises to see how it could be accomplished. We would only have to scale two rows to get to the door and though we'd probably attract puzzled glances from people sitting nearby, it was expected par for the course. After several false starts, where we would try to get up only to immediately sit back down when the professor turned our way, Jaehee, frustrated, took it upon herself to lead the charge and announced, "Let's just leave now!" She then promptly stood up and scrambled over the seats, but in the process, caught her foot on an armrest and knocked it on the metal back of a seat which just so happened to produce a very loud, reverberating sound plainly heard around the room. Heads quickly turned and people started laughing once they recognized that the strange brown-haired figure doing parkour in the back was obviously someone trying to leave undetected. That someone had failed. Miserably.
At this point, I had sunk down in my seat with palm to face, hoping that God would finally grant me the ability to magically transport myself out of awkward situations so that I wouldn't have to get up and identify myself as The Other Asian Girl once we were inevitably reported for public disturbance to the Economics department. I had no choice though, since my bag was already on the other side and I knew Jaehee would be waiting for me to come out. (By now, she was already out the door as she figured it would be better to act as if stumbling on an armrest and straddling chairs to leave a class was completely acceptable behavior and continued to exit.) Thus began the most excruciating seven seconds of my life, as I mumbled sheepish apologies to the guys sitting behind me while weaving between their legs to walk out in a somewhat civilized manner. (I decided that after what just took place, following Jaehee's example of resembling a spider monkey breaking out of federal prison would not be the best form of departure.)
When I burst through the double doors into the building's atrium outside, I found Jaehee curled up in stitches on the floor, in tears while laughing at possibly the worst and most harebrained attempt ever made to leave any sort of formal function. And so ends my short-lived career as a curious Econ-course taker. But my new life as a professional escape artist? Effective immediately.