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I tell you as long as it’s the last day you miss, I won’t automatically fail you. I do stress how quick the end of the semester is coming and worry you’re going to miss something quite important for the Final. I ask if you have a friend in the class who can give you the notes and tutor you. You don’t. I stress it again. Your grade isn’t that high. This missed day could really hurt you - you understand that? There has to be someone who can help you with the material you’ll miss. Then you ask if I can just do it. You want to come by in a free time or meet at a coffee shop, something where I can go over it privately with you. I reluctantly agree. Technically, I’m not supposed to tutor anyone away from class...a power struggle between the union and the college. I’d rather see my students who want to succeed pass than worry about not getting paid for the occasional time I offer help to someone. We agreed to meet at a restaurant around 6pm on Thursday. I arrived ahead of you, pulled out my. With a broad smile, she'd instructed me to perform a series of exercises under a lamp post. Jumping jacks, sit-ups, press-ups, followed by a sequence of stretches. She occasionally prodded me in places, happily critiquing my form, and making suggestions for improvement. I couldn't help but notice that most of her improvements just made me even more exposed, such as spreading my legs further apart in my sit-ups. It was a toss-up as to whether it was the actual exercises that were the most embarrassing, or the fact that we were at it for nearly ten minutes. I realised belatedly that I hadn't factored in the penalties in to my calculations as to when we'd be finished. Naively, I thought we'd be back to the cars by 5:20am. Still under cover of darkness. With Rachel's shoe-lace-tying, and now the first penalty, we were way behind schedule. Towards the end of the exercise regime, Rachel had off-handedly informed me that it was already 5:25am. With a sickening feeling, I realised that.
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