Her Black Plastic Throne

Eight a.m. classes on a Monday morning have the most interesting students, especially if the students belong to a certain chemistry class with long hours and tortuous labs. Half-asleep, pajama-donning, overdosed-on-energy-drinks students shuffle through the door with a whimper of defeat.

Then, there is that one student, who, one particular day, accidentally walks in a little later than usual. Wearing a cherry floral shirt, tights, bright ballet shoes, and with her brunette dyed hair swept into a ponytail, she is one of the few out of the thirty-something students in this class that didn't repeatedly hit the snooze button.

As soon as she walks through the door, she spots that her chair has been taken. A look of pain, confusion, and anger washes over her face. She looks around a few times, almost as though she had a sudden dawning that she had, in her haze, walked into the wrong class. But there she stands in the correct chemistry room, located on the first floor in the P section, hidden away. She blinks hard, as though wishing the dark spiked hair, plaid pajama wearing boy slumped in his seat would magically disappear. He remains. It was then that a look different than all those that has previously flickered across her face comes-- a look that makes people stop talking and a take a step back-- except no was looking at her, except me.

That's when I realize that humans tend to be more territorial than animals. Her face evolves into the look of a angered tiger who was ready to pounce on the unsuspecting human who had dared to take her seat. Instead she quickly stumbles into the closest plastic chair available. No longer inhabiting her usual seat, she fumbles with her canvas tote, bright neon notebooks, her non-Bic pens, and arranges it all. Class went on with the usual lectures, and she seems to have finally adjusted to her new seat. An hour into the class, I look up to see her unaware of her surroundings, just another bobbing head in the sea of students furiously writing notes. It seems that even though high school is behind us, we have taken the task of assigning designated seats into our own hands. The first day is the crucial day you pick your seat, for one shall be there for the rest of the semester. Too bad the boy in the plaid didn't get the memo.

Two days later, on a early Wednesday morning, as I walked through the door, I notice that the flustered brunette now seems to have reclaimed her stolen black plastic throne. She sits there as a cheerful brunette with a content smile, a pose of victory, with her back straight and relief in her eyes. Her books are spread around her, notes out, and she is ready to start the educational experience. She could be a poster girl for college recruitment, the excited and happy college student. However, all I can think of was that she was probably a good ten to fifteen minutes sleep deprived. When moments later the boy who had taken her seat arrives, her eyes drop a little, discreetly following him as he proceeds to take a another seat. Almost immediately her back hunches, almost as if she had let out a held-in breath. Her throne remained hers.

After observing her behavior, I realized that I have fallen prey to customary routines myself. So uncomfortable with change, one goes to great lengths to avoid it, much like the brunette who arrived early to get her seat. It makes me thinks that that life is to short to sweat the small things. A little spontaneity never hurt anyone.