Some people are unlucky in life, some unlucky in love and a few unfortunates are unlucky in lecture and bus seating arrangements. Stories have floated around since freshman year of people meeting friends, boyfriends, future husbands and football players in their lectures, and more than once I have eavesdropped on the Badger Bus and listened to people making new best friends.
I just don't understand how that is possible since the rest of campus seems to avoid me like the plague.
It was cold and windy outside the union, and the 80 bus was slowly filling. Soon, only myself and a girl talking on her cell phone had empty seats next to us. I figured the seat next to me was the next logical choice—it was on an end, conveniently located near the back exit and no one had to listen to me calm down my friend on my cell phone.
""No, you do not have to take their crap. You are a volunteer massage therapist,"" the only other open-seat girl was shouting. ""That's right—a volunteer. They should be paying or massaging you.""
All right. One more student had walked on the bus and was surveying his options. I picked up my backpack in anticipation, and figured that the massage therapy consolation was enough to turn anyone off from picking that seat.
""No! They do not have a right to treat their volunteers like this! You tell them that. Ok seriously Sheila, stop crying. Don't cry, don't cry. Just remember, I think it's because they are all taking drugs."" Oh, she was making this too easy.
The student was walking down the aisle. He slowed down next to my seat, looked at the open seat, myself, then the cell-phone girl, my seat, myself, and continued to walk.
The same problem haunted me in lecture. After noticing that no matter how crowded a Social Sciences lecture hall could be no one would sit next to me, I decided to experiment.
I moved around to make sure that my seat wasn't a fluke—I sat closer to the aisle, to see if any latecomers would sneak in next to me to avoid the embarrassment of shuffling through an entire row. I sat farther to the back. I sat with only one open seat to my left on the aisle. I chose seats surrounded by both right-handed and left-handed desks—I wasn't in any position to discriminate based on writing hand. I even started getting to lecture earlier, just so that each entering student could see the variety of lecture buddies available and make the informed choice.
None of it helped. While the class overflowed and kids sprawled on the ground, I sat alone, surrounded by empty chairs.
At first I thought my Econ 101 lecture was a fluke. Maybe I wasn't making myself look that appealing as a seat partner. Maybe I was inadvertently doing something offensive. Maybe I smelled. But three years later, I can still count on an open seat. It's worked out pretty nicely. I've now made it a snack chair and store foodstuffs on it for long power lectures.
Yet, starting last week, there's been a new trend in my lecture seat choice. Suddenly people have started to sit next to me. Then about halfway through lecture, they start the head nod, followed by the neck roll, the head drop and the inevitable collapse on their unsuspecting seat neighbor.
