It’s a familiar scenario, isn’t it? It’s a couple minutes to the hour and your professor has yet to show. Your mind runs wild. You’re going to be screwed if he has to make up a lost day of lecture.

That being said, you’ve never wanted anything more than this. Sure you’ve been here before, but this could be for real. Did they cancel class?

“Maybe their car won’t start?” you begin to hope. “Maybe they’re sick?” you think giddily with a near morbid mentality.

You don’t hate your professor per say, but it’s now one minute to the hour and you wish upon them every inconvenience, illness and injury that would give you an hour of freedom.

Oh, my God. It’s one after the hour. No professor. Your fantasies are becoming realized. It’s beautiful. It’s natural. It’s Maybelline. People are checking their emails. Everyone is on the edge of their seat for the good news. You’re so close to riding a bus back to your apartment in time to catch a bus back onto campus you can taste it.

Your palms are sweaty, knees weak, arms are heavy. There’s vomit on your sweater already. Overplayed comedy.

There’s static in the air. It’s three after the hour and the question is getting passed around: “When do we just leave?” When is it excusable without an email?

Some people are tossing out that 15 minutes is the rule, but no one is sure. It doesn’t matter to you, though. You’re on top of the wor-

And it’s over.

Just like that. The professor appears. You realize this is what comes to those who dare to dream. Class starts as normal. He doesn’t even acknowledge it.

For about five minutes, this was the center of your world. Your reason to be and your reason to leave. And he doesn’t even acknowledge it. But what is there to do?

It’s your own fault for imagining the world without a lecture this morning. No one said it would be canceled. Yet to you it was. And now it isn’t.

Then you go on your phone and look at ducklings go down a water slide. Business as usual.

Whatever, three fewer minutes of class. I guess that’s okay.