An open letter to morning classes
This is an open letter to my Monday through Thursday, 9 a.m. French 102 class. While there are only 10 of you in the class, I feel the need to address a few things. As morning classes are the worst thing college has to offer, they can present some serious misconceptions about a person.
First, I’m sorry for being the empty soul that hauntingly walks into class everyday, like a demon in the night. Outside of these trecherous morning classes lies a funny and often bright young lady — but as it stands, you might never see that side of me.
That being said, I promise I know how to smile, too. I did not suffer with braces for five years in order to never smile again. I was raised in a British household and for the most part, I know what manners are and how to exercise them accordingly. I was always “yes ma’am” and “no sir,” but for whatever reason, that part of my brain isn’t even close to functioning before 11 o’clock in the morning. That’s the reality of it.
I promise I know how to dress myself. Yoga pants and flip-flops are not my usual attire. It may seem like I own a stockpile of old sweatshirts that rival Goodwill’s, but that is not my typical day-to-day. Would you all believe me if I told you I won “Best Dressed” and “Best Hair” in high school? I know some of you cocked an eyebrow at that.
Lastly, I promise that what you see at 9 a.m. every day is completely different than what you might find a 1, 2 or 3 p.m. I know in a different world with later classes, I would more than likely be friends with most of you. But as fate has it, and my major requires it, I was forced into these morning classes.
And thus, I leave you all with a better sense of awareness. While this 9 a.m. French class could potentially be the death of me, at least I tried. My hope is that some of you can sympathize with me from this letter, and in turn, we’ll get through this semester together. After all, nous sommes tous dans le même bateau, n’est pas?
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