I arrive eleven minutes early.
I claim my intended seat, third from the entrance, conveniently next to the chalkboard.
I arrange my fully-charged Apple MacBook Air M2 Midnight Blue laptop, my black leather Moleskine notebook, my Studio Neat Mark One orange limited-edition retractable pen, and my plastic Dasani water bottle (with the labeled removed, obviously) on the table.
I lift my pen and click it several times.
I return my laptop to my purple Jansport backpack.
I enscribe today's date and then "First Class Session", underlined twice, in my notebook.
I enhance the "S" in "Session" into a "cool S."
I spy the round clock hung above the doorway.
I observe the red second hand rotate for three full minutes.
I am alone.
I cough, loudly, to attract attention from a hopeful passerby through the open door.
I return my laptop to the desk and rifle through open tabs until I find the Blackboard learning management system website.
I confirm that I am indeed in the correct classroom, ICC-672, for Professor Sargrove's highly-coveted "Beyond Meaning" advanced philosophy course.
I rise.
I poke my head through the door.
I consider the possibility that I am the only enrolled student in this highly-coveted course.
I reject this possibilty.
I consider the possibility that each student in Professor Sargrove's course has been sent to a separate, similarly unmarked, classroom.
I accept this possibility.
I consider the possibility that this situation is indeed our first lesson in "Beyond Meaning."
I accept this possibility, too.
I scour ICC-672 for meaning.
I empty the grey trashbin onto the table alongside my every-day-carry.
I detach a greasy receipt from The Tombs for a Chicken #2 sandwich that has been stuck to a postcard of the statue of the founder of my university with presumably Big Red chewing gum.
I put two and two together.
I gather my crap and flee the room.
I take the stairs.
I burst through the lobby doors.
I sprint across Red Square.
I jog through the quad.
I slow to a walk through the front gates.
I pick up my pace on the cobblestones.
I descend into The Tombs.
I order a Chicken #2 to-go and a Tomb's Ale for-here from the bartender.
I chug the beer.
I tap my contactless credit card on one of those payment things.
I snag the thin plastic bag containing the styrofoam-encased Chicken #2.
I race back to campus through the front gates.
I expect to see my fellow "Beyond Meaning" classmates here, assembling in front of John Carroll's statue.
I am alone.
I understand they must indeed have alternate quests.
I step through the morning glories surrounding our founder.
I climb onto his bronzed feet.
I place the styrofoam to-go box in Father Carroll's lap.
I rest on a nearby bench.
I wait for Professor Sargrove to arrive and enlighten me.
I am revelatory.
I am ecstatic.
I am nihilistic.
I am but a mere drop in a vast ocean of nothingness.
I am hungry.
I smell the Chicken #2 and the mountain french fries it lies upon.
I consider eating some of the french fries before Professor Sargrove arrives.
I take out my phone.
I check my email.
I find an email from Sargroves.
I read it.
I stand up.
I walk over to our dear Jesuit.
I remove the styrofoam box from his lap.
I eat the sandwich and fries on the way back to my dorm.
I wonder how Professor Sargroves got COVID.
I decide to drop the now Zoom-only class.