I’m standing in a classroom with my math teacher/professor. He asks me, “Shouldn’t you be studying for the mid term?” I say, “No, I’m done. I’m ready.” He leaves the room.
A student volunteer errand boy enters. I’m still standing in the same location. I’m deeply engrossed in reading something. The boy starts saying that he has a paper to give to the professor. I shush the boy. I hold out my hand, still looking at my reading. Then I look at the paper, and the boy says that it’s an old graded [quiz / homework / worksheet] that needs to be returned to the student. I read SK’s son’s name written at the top in child-like penmanship. “Indeed it’s old,” I think to myself. SK’s son graduated 10 years ago, and this isn’t even high school-level work! Then I realize that name isn’t SK’s son’s name, it’s S himself. SK is about my age, a sexagenarian(1)! “I’ll take care of it,” I say, and the boy leaves.
I leave the classroom and walk toward the main office. There are a few students in the hallways. As I approach a staircase, one student is in front of me. He’s walking a bit slowly, and he’s got a buddy nearby. That buddy is on another staircase, and he’s showing off how he can slide down a few steps at a time. Now I’m on the stairs stuck behind this slow student. My impatience is building. “I can do better than that,” I say, referring to the buddy, and I slide down the entire set of stairs, which is about twelve steps. And I feel relieved to be moving at a decent pace again.
(1) A sexagenarian is a person between the ages of 60 to 69 years old. https://www.britannica.com/dictionary/eb/qa/Age-by-Decade
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