It’s my last week on teaching duty and I’m getting somewhat nostalgic about it. Not about the teaching, which I find a thoroughly depressing experience, but about my commute ritual.
I hope the people I’ve been commuting with will miss me as much as I’ll miss them. Poor stewardess Patricia, who serves my regular bus line, will find my seat no. 53 unoccupied (or, worse, occupied by a stranger who picked the seat on a whim rather than because it’s their spot) and will have to abandon her own ritual of bringing me my usual medium sparkling water without me having to ask for it.
Also, my favourite underage waiter in the coffee shop where I always wait for my return bus will have no one to ask what kind of latte I’m having today (my preferred choice is the one with coconut syrup).
The doorwoman at the university building C3 will probably be relieved because she never remembered who I was and routinely insisted that I identify myself. It clearly makes perfect sense that a random person asks for a classroom key so that she could surreptitiously teach there a bunch of ignorant kids.
Who is bound to be most pleased with the end of my teaching stint is my cat. The cat demands that I sit at home and keep her company. It’s a question what she gets out of it because while I’m home, she doesn’t pay me any attention. That’s a feature she shares with my students, whom I for this reason won’t miss at all.