PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

I have written elsewhere of my dining hall experience during the first term of my freshman collegiate year, and one day of the second term:  taking my meals at a Seniors' Table, to which I had been invited provided I followed the rules of speaking only when spoken to, and of respectfully accepting any statements made without posing argumentative dissent.  This period ran from Monday, September 13th through Friday, November 19th, 1976; and then Monday, January 3, 1977---the date on which I had received enough from them.

In this brief synopsis, I will call the Senior who presided over the table, Tempsee, a meaningless phrase equal to the meannglessness of his collegiate career, and the insignificance that he eventually proved.

I had successfully avoided any personal contact with or geographical proximity to Tempsee during the Winter term, but when the Spring term began, I learned that my final class of the day, a mid-afternoon class given by the English deparment on the Pastoral Tradition In Literature would bring me into contact with and proximity to Tempsee, who had also enrolled in the class---which was his final literature course prior to his graduation in June of that year.

That soring began, and remained, very balmy, with unusually warm temperatures and rain, if at all, usually restricted to early mornings or late evenings, and most often a very gentle, almost mist-like, downpour.  A good many of the students resident on campus apparently disliked shoes; barefoot or flipflops became the preferred solution.  Dress was casual as well:  customarily, pullover shirts and faded denim bell-bottoms.  I followed the crowd as to my choice of clothing; and though I possessed perfectly serviceable flipflops, I think I probably carried them more than I wore them.  Thus, I was able to blend right in.

During the first session of class, Tempsee noticed that I, too, had enrolled in the course; we did not exchange words, even in greeting, and the sneer on his face made his opinion of the situation obvious.  The desk/chair modules were arranged in a kind of circular pattern, and I took the one opposite of his position.  Having carried my flipflops in, I set them on the floor next to my chair, and I noticed that Tempsee was staring at me with a look of disgust on his face.  My feet, like those of most of the students in the room, were positively filthy with grass-stain and street grime.  (The shower stalls in my dormitory, although state of the art, did not really allow for an easy way to wash the soles and toes of one's feet.  Therefore, each evening before bed, I soaked my feet in a small plastic tub of warm water so as not to track any grass-stained or street-grime on to my bed's clean sheets.)  I realized that Tempsee was offended by all the dirty feet in the classroom; that he could do nothing about it; and that mine were directly in his line of site.  Because of my class schedule, my daily routine required me to rise by eight a.m, take breakfast at the dining hall, and attend my first class of the day at ten-twenty.  It ended by eleven-thirty, and I took lunch at noon, and attended my second class at one-ten p.m.  The last class of my day, and of Tempsee's, began at three thirty or three forty, I now forget which.  For the most part, from the time I left my dorm to get breakfast in the dining hall, until the time I returned to the dormitory for the evening after supper, I mostly carried my flipflops.  My feet, clean in the evening soak in that plastic tub, and again in the shower during my morning bathroom routine, still became filthy with mostly grass-stain and, also, a bit of street grime during the ordinary day; and Tempsee always received a glimpse of this during our class together.  

Starward