I remember sitting at one of the desks at the very front of the class. For some reason the teacher’s desk is on a little elevation, as if that gives him more leverage over the rowdy teens before him. As usual I have no clue whatsoever as to what is happening on the blackboard. I always zoned out during mathematics, since I didn’t get it anyway. Sensing I wasn’t paying attention, the teacher calls on me to solve the equation on the board. I blankly stare at the numbers and letters on the board, as if the both of us don’t know I won’t be able to do it.
“PNR?! What the hell does PNR mean?” I grab the scribble paper that has been left on my desk. I make a quick estimation of questions that could be wrong. If I submit now, that’ll be a 70-75% grade. Dammit, I wanted to do better this time. Still, if I submit now, provided I’m not oblivious to other questions I answered wrong, that should be enough to pass. Barely though…More
My eyes look at the clock on the dashboard, as they often tend to do while driving this bit of freeway. Normally I’m curious to see if I’m still on schedule to arrive on time for class. But last Saturday I was more concerned with arriving at Jandakot ridiculously early, since I forgot to factor in the absence of other commuters on the Kwinana freeway.More