I had an adventure today.
On a quest to find an ESL class to observe, I went to a certain building mentioned in an email. Come to find out, the classroom didn’t exist. There’s no such thing as 214-I even made a little chant about it and started singing it as I wandered around looking for the right place. There are a lot of buildings on my college campus. Some of them are giants, and some of them are mega-giants. Some of them have tiny nooks and crannies and stairs that go nowhere in particular. I’ve always been a fan of stairs that go nowhere in particular. They’re the thing I remember best about my grandfather’s old house-all those stairs. And the delicate music box unicorn. And the books (oh Nancy Drew how I wanted to meet you!). And the closet full of Barbies. (Yeah, I know, I know, unrealistic expectations and anorexia. But we didn’t have them at home, and they were so pretty…)
*ahem* and now we return you to our regularly scheduled broadcast…
No one knew where to send me-building managers, students at help desks, the library across the square-I had to go all the way off campus to the ESL office to find out what had happened (a 20 minute walk). It was frustrating at first, but then I realized that I must look kinda funny running around with a giant backpack muttering repetitive little ditties to myself and grinning the strained Joker grin with accidental spittle in a corner of my mouth at a rather handsome but disgusted-looking student librarian. And from there I started to enjoy it. So many places that I hadn’t really explored before-a vestibule outside the Ladies’ in that old library used to be a cloakroom, and little spidery legs of halls and a labyrinth of passageways with offices in an old liberal arts building, and then a street mural on the way to the ESL office-and finally, an old man playing a guitar in the alley behind the street mural. He was good. Tired-looking people were gathering over next to him, staring into the distance and petting their dogs. It was a great day for music-clear and bright and not too cold. Really, it was beautiful. At the risk of sounding like an 18th century morality textbook, that was the point at which I remembered this:
“An adventure is only an inconvenience rightly considered. An inconvenience is an adventure wrongly considered.”
In case you were wondering, yes-I did make it to the class. After it was over, but seconds before the last person-the teacher I wanted to talk to-left. Score!