Never finished this, but it was started the first day of class. Hope you enjoy anyways. Oh, and there are pictures!
I walked to the building and looked up. *sigh* Yes, this WAS the right building, unfortunately. Somewhat daunted, I pushed open the door and entered the building. OK, my classroom was 209 so that meant…I had to go to the second floor. Where were the stairs? Turning to my right, I saw the men’s room, and across from that, the well-worn grey stairs. I trudged up, taking my time. After all, class wouldn’t start for another fifteen minutes. I got to the top of the stairs and saw a glass door in front of me, over the door, there was an emblem that said “South Florida Juvenile Correction Center”. Huh? Am I in the right place? I mentally shrugged there was no other building with a big number 10 on it, so maybe this was left over from when this building was used for something else. I pushed open the door, and entered a small hallway. To the right was a door with 218 over it. Ok…looking for 209…hmmm. Oh, there it is! The door to the room stood wide open. I looked inside and bit back a groan. Something told me this class was not going to be what I had expected. The room looked like an aerobics room, complete with mirrors, stepping stones and a laminate floor. The desks and whiteboard currently taking up most of the space looked completely out of place. Walking to the front of the class, I chose one of the desks near the teacher’s desk. I always sit near the front. It used to be because I had a hardtime seeing the board, but I no longer had that problem. Now I sat in the front so the teacher would know who I am, and would be more likely to be lenient with me. I was also more likely to actually pay attention when sitting at the front of the class, if only because I knew it would be obvious to the teacher when I wasn’t. I sat down and took my iPod out of my purse, but didn’t even get a chance to turn it on before the teacher and the first of the students came into the classroom. The teacher was chatting away with the student, who clearly must have been in one of her classes before. I listened with half an ear to the conversation while I took stock. The teacher looked nice, a mother-ish black woman probably in her early to mid 40’s (though I am notoriously bad at guessing ages so I could be WAY off the mark). Despite that, she looked fit, which made sense for a teacher of a wellness class. I decided I could like this teacher, and she would probably be receptive to the fact that I’d be missing the last day of class. Slowly, more people trickled into the classroom and took seats.