Freshman recalls fear and trepidation of first class
Maggie Wendell
September 8, 2008
I had already been awake for a half an hour before my alarm clock went off at 6:30 a.m. The alarm was on my cell phone, and for some reason, instead of just turning it off beforehand, I had been holding it in my hand in a state of nervous anticipation so I could quickly hit the button before waking up my new roommate. It was the first day of my college career, and I wasn’t about to make the stranger I was sharing a bunk bed with despise her over-anxious roommate already.
I clumsily hobbled down the end of the bed in an attempt to be as quiet as possible, but ultimately missed the last rung of the ladder and came crashing down on the brand new leopard-print shag rug that she had so graciously added to the room before I moved in. By the time I made it to my desk, it was 6:34 a.m. — I had less than an hour and a half before my first class as an Ohio University student.
As I waited for my coffee to brew, I checked my schedule online and reviewed the building directory and map on the student Web site to make sure I knew exactly when and where I was going. After two bowls of cereal and a healthy dose of People.com, I finally slipped on my spongy flip-flops, grabbed my stylish stainless-steel shower caddy, and headed down the hall for the showers. To my absolute horror, I wasn’t the only early bird on my floor, and all the showers were taken but the smallest one in the corner! Of course I was too restless to wait the two minutes for a normal one, so I spent an endless 10 minutes slammed up against the tile wall while shampoo poured into my eyes—there was no way I was closing them even for a second for fear that the moldy shower curtain would creep up and make contact with my skin.
After getting ready and checking my schedule and campus map twice more, I finally walked out my door wearing the cool new outfit I had picked out the night before. OK, maybe it was more like five nights before, but either way, my short-sleeved Abercrombie and Fitch polo and distressed jeans coupled perfectly with my Old Navy flip-flops in a way that definitely asserted my being a cool college student who obviously wasn’t trying too hard to look good on the first day of school.
The first class of my college career was Communications 103, a public-speaking course required for my major. I arrived a respectable seven minutes early, took a seat in the third row, and quickly realized that most of the people in the room were sitting in silence and constantly yawning. I immediately decided to hide how awake I was by slumping far back in my chair and “carelessly” tapping my pencil on the desk as I stared at my feet — I fit in perfectly with the 8 o’clock class crowd. After a couple minutes, a small elderly man hurriedly walked through the door and stood at the podium before us.
“Good morning, wonderful public-speaking students!” he practically shouted in his high, nasal voice. “It’s the first day of the new quarter, which means that you will all be giving your first speeches today!”
We all looked around with dumbfounded expressions on our faces, wondering if we had heard our professor, Mr. Wilson (not his real name), correctly.
“Did he just say we were giving a speech TODAY?” I thought.
A tidal wave of hands flew into the air, with numerous outbursts: “Uh, excuse me?” “WHAT?” “Huh?” and “Dude, are you serious?” During this brief 30 seconds of apparent panic, Mr. Wilson stood at the podium with a look of sadistic pleasure on his face.
“You all signed up for a public-speaking class, didn’t you?” he asked. “Let’s get right to it then!” He proceeded to explain to us that his way of taking roll on the first day of class was to call us up to the front of the class, where we would continue to the front of the room, stand at the podium and introduce ourselves. After this, we were given a random topic that we had to speak about for a minute and a half – and yes, we HAD to talk the entire time. It was the classic impromptu speech — the surefire downfall of any student (like myself) who lives for planned schedules and ample preparation time.
A collective groan rolled across the room as we were all suddenly not so tired and groggy anymore. When Mr. Wilson announced that we’d be going from the bottom of the alphabet to the top, I had serious thoughts of wanting to inflict physical pain on this terrible man, who, it seemed at that time, had truly just ascended from Hades before entering this classroom.
My last name starts with “W,” which meant that only two people went before me. I sat at my desk, nervously cracking my sweaty knuckles and gnawing on the inside of my bottom lip. “How am I going to do this? I’m going to make a fool of myself! I know I’m just going to freeze up. This is so cruel,” I thought. My heart sank when the guy before me finished his speech. For the past minute and a half, I had completely tuned out his quiet, shaky voice as he discussed his thoughts on high-school hazing.
“Let’s see here, Margaret Wendell?” said Mr. Wilson, whose annoyingly calm voice I had already managed to despise made me want to throw something at him.
I slowly walked to the front of the room, trying my best to hide how nervous I was. After a brief introduction of myself, it was time for me to receive my topic. I clenched my fists behind the podium and prayed for something easy — something I had a chance of filling an entire minute and a half talking about. I stared at Mr. Wilson like I imagine a person on trial for second-degree murder would stare at the judge when being read the jury’s decision.
“OK, Margaret. Your speech topic is euthanasia. You have a minute and 30 seconds, and your time starts now.”
As I heard the quiet beep of Mr. Wilson’s stop watch, I felt my stomach do some sort of advanced gymnastics move that it had never done before. I didn’t have time to panic – the clock had already started! So many thoughts were buzzing around in my head, but I couldn’t control them enough to make any sense of them. Finally, I succumbed to the tried-and-true method that, while not proving that I was a bright student with the ability to organize and present a coherent set of thoughts, would at least guarantee that I fill my time: verbal diarrhea. I just began talking, hoping that at some point I’d talk myself into a point that would get me on track.
“Um, when I think about the youth in Asia, the first thing that comes to mind is how different they are from the youth here in America,” I began. “I would say that the biggest difference between Asian children and American children is the level of discipline in the school systems, and just what the adults expect of them in general. The youth in Asia seem to be more well mannered and respectful than the youth in America.”
It all felt like an out-of-body experience — I listened to the words coming out of my mouth while never being able to recall ever telling my brain to say them. I went on to tell a story of a made-up friend I had in grade school who was from Asia and how he was so quiet and polite compared to other obnoxious and unruly boys in my class. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, the soft beep of the stopwatch sounded again.
“OK then,” Mr. Wilson said shortly, the corners of his mouth beginning to curl.
For the first time in a minute and a half, I became aware of my surroundings. I had been concentrating so hard at the white wall at the other end of the room during my speech that I didn’t even take a second to realize that everyone in the room was smiling at me; in fact, quite a few were clearly holding back laughter. I racked my brain for reasons why my speech could possibly be considered humorous. As I stood there wondering if I said a bad word, or if my fly was undone, Mr. Wilson cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter in his chair.
“Thank you, Margaret. I must say, your take on the Asian children of the world was quite interesting, and I think we would all agree that you did a great job delivering your speech. I think it’s right to point out, however, that you may have been a little confused about the topic I gave you. I actually meant for you to talk about euthanasia,” he said, speaking like he was addressing a first-grader. “Euthanasia is actually one word. You might be more familiar with the term ‘mercy killing’?”
My heart literally skipped a beat. I felt a surge of extreme embarrassment coupled with acute nausea as I came to the realization of what I had done.
“Oh, um, yeah, I know what euthanasia is,” I said as I felt my whole body go numb. Finally, the whole class burst out in laughter. “No, really! I swear I do. I do.”
After a little more babbling and apologizing, I was eventually able to join the class and laugh at myself. While I was beyond mortified, I couldn’t help but think how ridiculous I must have sounded. Mr. Wilson thanked me for providing the comic relief, and assured me that the next time he issued that topic he’d be more careful in his pronunciation.
I shook my head and looked at my feet, still bearing the now dying laughter of the class. The walk of shame back to my desk was particularly painful. I tried to hide how humiliated I was by acting like I didn’t care and that I was even somewhat pleased with myself for making everyone laugh. In reality, all I could think about was not just how all these people were laughing, but that they also all thought I was a complete ditz. The rest of the class time I just sat slouched back in my chair, counting the milliseconds until 10 o’clock. Finally, after another hour of speeches, everyone had successfully made the journey through hell and back. I grabbed my book bag and was the first person out the door.
The entire walk back to the dorms consisted of me trying to figure out exactly how many times I said the words “youth in Asia” in my speech. A stint of nausea hit me every time I replayed that endless 90 seconds of my life over in my head.
My friend called my cell phone as I was unlocking the door to my room, and I hit the silent key, knowing that I didn’t have time to talk to her quite yet. As soon I walked in, I marched straight over to my computer. After a few swift clicks of the mouse, and a couple pecks of the keyboard, my computer landed on the screen I had been thinking about ever since I made it back to my desk after the speech: ARE YOU SURE YOU WANT TO DROP CLASS # 03087 COMS 103? Without even a second of hesitation, I hit the YES button, and called my friend back.
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