Walking to Class

This is an assignment for my [pathetic] English course at my university. It was written in ten minutes. It was neither proofread nor edited. I decided to post it here, however.

Walking to Class

I approach the door to leave my apartment. I realise in that moment that I do not have my keys in my usual pocket. I fumble around all of my pockets to find that my keys are not on my person. Frustrated, I walk back into my room to retrieve my forgotten necessity. I retrace my steps to my door and lock it securely behind me. I attempt twice to twist the knob, verifying that it is indeed locked.

As I walk down my hallway to the elevator, I smell all of the breakfast foods that my neighbours are cooking. I wonder to myself, “Why is it that they have so much time to cook meals in the mornings? They must sleep earlier than I do. Or perhaps they have nothing better to do in the mornings than to prepare meals out of boredom.” I reach the elevator and am pleased by its response time. I step into the empty lift and pull my headphones out of my briefcase. As the elevator descends, I slide them over my ears and plug them into my iPod. There is a brief moment of complete silence as my noise-cancelling headphones block out the noises of the people around me as I step out of the elevator. As I walk out of the apartment complex, I press the play button. My artist of choice today is Utada Hikaru. Her music blares through my headphones and motivates me to take each step as I walk towards the General Classroom Building.

I am not surprised to see other students walking in the same direction as I am. Everyone, student or otherwise, appears to be headed in the same general direction. As I walk near or past others, I feel self-conscious about the volume of my music. I quickly reduce it until I am at a safe distance away from them. Everyone’s faces look as blank and dull as mine does. No one wants to go to class, work, or anywhere else for that matter. The panhandlers on the side of the road do not even look particularly enthused about their begging. It is simply too early in the morning. I press the Home button on my iPod to check the time. It reads 0913. I am going to be early for class.

As I approach the gates to the courtyard, I begin to smell the familiar odour of the smokers who aim to turn their lungs and the lungs of others around them black while enjoying simple, pleasurable puffs. As I squeeze through the gates, I try not to breathe very deeply as I dodge people and smoke while stumbling down the steps. I finally reach the bottom and feel relieved to have passed through the gate unscathed. I ignore the thousands of conversations that are occurring at one time in the courtyard while increasing my music’s volume. I am nearly to my classroom now.

As I enter the General Classroom Building, I realise that I have forgotten exactly which classroom I am learning in. I pull my phone out of my pocket to look at the image of my schedule that is saved. I read ‘329’ while walking up the stairs to the third floor. I find my classroom and see familiar faces waiting outside the door. The time is now 0922. My professor will arrive any moment now. I lean against the wall and continue to listen to some of my favourite tunes.