By True Grimes

“Why are you late?” asked the teacher as Albert walked into the classroom.

“Because I ran alongside my bicycle all the way to school,” Albert replied, almost out of breath.

“Why didn’t you ride your bicycle?” the teacher asked curiously.

“Because,” explained Albert, “I was so late I didn’t have time to stop and get on the bike.”

Normal students would consider this comical story an exaggeration from “Time-Are You Its Master or Its Slave,” in Awake (Dec. 8, 1987). Nevertheless, the anecdote perfectly portrays my abnormal student life beginning in spring semester of 2007, after a 30-year leave of absence from academia.

In fact, biker Albert and I are becoming best friends, in spite of size and grade level differences.

Still, the striking disparity between us two bicycle pushers is that little Al ran alongside his cycle one day to kindergarten.

My tandem is pushed every day to college. Rushed, with many homework assignments to be done and deadlines to be met, I feel as though I am forever shoving a rider-less racing bike from one end of NCC’s 130 acres to the next.

A good point in pleading my hopeless case happened when my over-wound, energizer bunny being sputtered out-of-control last July because of not thinking through an impulsive, brilliant plan to dash down three flights of stairs leading from the Computer Center out to the south parking lot.

Regrettably, an emergency alarm triggered when opening a giant exit door and caused shrill, ear-deafening warning sounds. Sadly, the barren hallway did not provide a hiding spot.

Besides, when overhearing unwarranted remarks coming from the printing counter, student workers had hastily determined the guilty party, before looking up to make a positive identification.

An eternity passed before search and recover assistant Eric Eifrig began walking in my direction.

At first, I was relieved to see Eifrig not carrying a big stick, in compliance with non-corporal punishment rules.

Upon second glimpse, it was apparent that the grinning geek was deliberately lollygagging.

Furthermore, he was swishing a big silver ring holding shiny keys, the sole solution for terminating the madness.

At that moment, Eric Eifrig was evil and must be destroyed. Vowing to take revenge later, I hunched down to cover a bright red face and appear invisible, difficult for a muddled, adult student.

“Eric, I’m sorry for setting off the alarm. I did not see the huge red letters ‘Emergency Exit Only-Alarm Will Sound’ until it was too late. Does this happen often?”

“No, ma’am, not that often, only about once a semester,” said Eifrig, mimicking my southern drawl.

“Well, let’s look on the bright side, I’ve got summer semester covered for you now,” I said nervously while hurrying out the legal front exit without looking back.

For some time after, my sensitive antennas detected snickering and muffled laughter from the nerds behind the help desk on the third floor. Nonetheless, I resolved to stay in college, in spite of jeering caused by self-inflicted setbacks.

Renewed hope surfaced when learning the Juggling Club was “part of exciting student life at NCC.” Therefore, I looked forward to time management, support group sessions that would surely teach juggling homework assignments and deadlines while surviving life.

“Hi, Juggling Person, where have you been my short scholarly life?” I said when catching a glimpse of the chapter officer standing behind the colorful booth in the student center. After frantically racing ahead to beat the crowd, I accidentally knocked down his Lego display.

“I’m real sorry about splitting up Tyrannosaurus Rex into a million Lego pieces, but my therapist recommends joining your Juggling Club immediately. Where do I sign up, but first a few questions that may not be covered in your prestigious private club packet?”

“Will your society save me from crisis management and fighting fires during waking hours? Will it help me to set daily priorities, work on homework when most alert, accept social invitations, and get sufficient rest and relaxation?”

“How can I cope with mundane tasks silently screaming at me, while balancing daunting academy duties? Silent screaming is thunderous,” I explained right before the loud bump and thud.

When stooping down to lift up the fainting young man off the floor, I spotted small juggling balls clutched tightly under his fists. Concern for his frail health quickly transformed to worry about his grades, with distracting toys hindering homework.

“Until today, there was a time when I thought anyone could learn juggling,” said the visibly shaken leader, Stephen Kalpin. “But, thank you for proving me wrong.”

“Balls, clubs, rings, torches, diablos, and devil sticks are simple equipment that our meager club budget barely affords,“ said Kalpin, in defense of the simple setup.

“I knew that,” I said casually while masking downright disappointment and embarrassment that the Juggling Club was not what I thought.

“Only weekly lessons are offered,” said the club president, “but you qualify for intensive intervention in a lock-up, in-patient unit, so that students can remain safe at NCC.

“Enough already, don’t be rude, boy, be nice. Anyway, don’t post pink flyers on bulletin boards if girls are excluded from your one male-dominated, opinionated club, never mind,” I said, scampering away before little security men dressed in blue suits arrived at the scene.

Feeling dumb, I wondered if everlasting escapes from ungraceful predicaments were my calling in life. If peaceful periods at college were mere daydreams.

Before beating myself up, I sucked in three deep breaths and meditated on my impending 2022 graduation, when little Albert will graduate from NCC as well.

After our May 20, 2022 grand commencement regalia, then us two pedal pushing pals will have eons and aeons to hop up on undemanding, comfortable bicycle seats, ride with gusto, and channel get-up-and-go energy to places more fun than college.