I am not the one.

8:20 am:

I walk in the morning from the 108th St Dunkin. The weather is about 20 degrees Fahrenheit. Despite the chill, I’m happy.

8:35 am:

I’m actually on time, even early, to my 8:40 am Calc 3 class on the fourth floor of Milbank Hall. My friend and I split a brownie batter donut, and I set my large iced regular down for the lecture.

8:40 am:

As a paid notetaker for this class, I am contractually obligated to lock in. I’m sitting in the front row, taking notes with my iPad on my lap and my large Dunkin cup on the small foldout desk.

8:42 am:

A man places his bag on the desk next to mine. He whips around to take off his jacket and BOOM. Down goes the coffee. The cup lies on its side for a split second before the liquid starts to rush all over the floor, and the ice cubes tumble. He says “sorry.” I get it, we all make mistakes. I’m an extremely clumsy person. I stand up immediately to run and get paper towels from the bathroom down the hall, but he does not follow.

8:43 am:

I come back, armed with half a roll of paper towels to combat the spill. I see my friend, who has helpfully moved my things, begin to pick up the ice and put it in the cup. Meanwhile, the man has acquired ONE paper towel to clean up the LARGE iced coffee. I put my paper towels down and clean up the spill to the best of my ability.

8:44 am:

The man chooses to move seats entirely and does not help with the spill. Once I have contained the coffee, I try to get over my embarrassment. I stand up, nervous that I’m blocking the view of my unbothered professor at the blackboard. I move to the back of the class for a fresh start.

8:45 am:

I desperately scramble to write down all the notes on the board. My hand, and my world, feels a little emptier without my iced coffee.

Coffee via Bwarchives