It’s time to play the music. It’s time to light the lights. It’s time to teach the students who’ve been partying all night.
You don your fancy work clothes. Review your copious notes. You stride into the lecture hall and rehearse your better jokes.
The students up the back are sleeping. Such a shame to disturb. You switch on your microphone, and they look rather perturbed.
The PowerPoint isn’t working. So it’s over to plan B. Chalk, and talk, and stories, and oh poor me, poor me.
The girls in row three are chatting, the beardy bloke scrolls through his phone. You know in your heart that everyone would prefer to be at home.
You mention the word ‘tip’, and in the same sentence ‘exam’. A silence descends. Now they’re eating out of your palm.
You wrap up proceedings, knowing you haven’t lost your touch. Pity you’ll have to go through the same ding-dong with third years after lunch.
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