How I Know It's Time To Leave

I'm graduating in three weeks. Today I got a tassle from the Fulbright college. As the secretary combed through it with her fingers, she explained how to detach the tassle that came with my cap and attach this new one. She referenced a hook on the peak of the cap, and said, "You know what that is, right." I said of course. When I was leaving, I turned around in the doorway and said, "Oh, I almost forgot. One of my really good friends hasn't picked up his cap and gown yet. Do you know if the bookstore will be selling those again before graduation?"

People ask me all the time if I'm sad to leave. I always say not yet. It hasn't really hit yet. I'm still going to class and skimming the books I'm supposed to read. I'm still spending time with my fraternity brothers. When I can't do those things anymore, then I'll be sad. But at the same time, I feel like its time to leave. My coolness is peaking - if I was here next fall I'd be like a Beanie Baby or Lindsy Lohan. Or the second, third, and fourth seasons of Heroes. I could go on.

Anyway, I was in the library today waiting for a computer. There's an established system here at Mullins Library - there are two waiting areas, on opposite sides of the bank of computers. People gather in lines there, and each side takes turns when computers open up. It's unwritten, but it's also eternal. In four years at the University the system has never failed. I have never yet had a computer dispute.

After two or three minutes of standing alone in line at my favorite spot by the atlases (because you can rest your backpack on them), one of the new desktop Macs opened up. This are highly coveted because the screens are gigantic. All the windows computers use flatscreen shoeboxes. You have to kiss the screen to see any words. But, like I said, a computer opened up. I started towards it when a tall young man sat in the open chair. It was like he apparated right into it. It was like he was an evil wizard.

I hesitated. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn't a big deal. It was a computer, and I could find another. Maybe he had to email his dying grandmother, or he was committing internet fraud. But I decided to say something. "Hey man," I said, "I was kind of in line for the next computer."

He swiveled around and looked at me before responding. "There is no line," he said with a scoff, and turned back around to login. I stood shocked, but also very embarrassed. I said okay, and walked away. This was the first time in four years the computer waiting system has failed. I'm almost afraid to go back in the library. I'm glad I'm leaving in three weeks.

(The worst or best part - I'm pretty sure I knew him. When he typed in his login, I recognized it, and wanted to ask, Are you X? Do you know Y? I felt like I had made a poor first impression, though, and kept the secret to myself. I'll take it to my grave, then get out of there quickly, because if the cops catch me at my own grave that could stir something up amongst the people who thought I was dead.)