Spartan Daily - Serving San Jose State University since 1934

Issue date: 3/15/04 Section: Opinion>>Columnists

JASHONG KING [Click to enlarge]

It was Monday, and my hastily written essay was due soon.

"It's not that good. I just want to say 'screw it,' " I said while sitting at home, ready to embrace yet another F on my sterling 2.7 GPA.

She would have none of it.

"You're only going to fail if you don't try. Just get off your ass, and turn it in," she said. "I'm sick and tired of you complaining about your bad grades. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Do something about it."

She had a point there.

I lived 30 minutes from campus, and I still hadn't brushed my teeth or showered. I looked at my watch. Class would be over by 11:45 a.m. Could I make it?

My decade-old Honda Accord barreled its way down narrow suburban streets, through 15 mph school zones and known cop hideouts before making it to the freeway. I ratcheted my automatic transmission into fourth gear and sped down the interstate at 85 mph, silently running calculations in my head.

The only time I ever apply any of the math I learned in grade school is the time leading up to major test dates. I processed the information as I drove.

All right, I've missed three quizzes and only attended half the classes. That takes a 15 percent chunk out of my grade in addition to a low participation score, but I can still make a C if I pull an 80 on this essay and a 75 on my final.

Those calculations were echoed as I factored my estimated-time-of-arrival at school.

It's 11:15 a.m., and it normally takes 30 minutes to get to school. Depending on traffic, I might skip the Mission Boulevard crossover, but then I have to gamble on whether there's a jam at 880 South. If there's no jam, I shave off seven minutes. If there is, I'm stuck an extra 10. Do I gamble?

I chose to gamble.

After half an hour of high-speed freeway weaving worthy of NASCAR and checking my rearview mirror the entire way for the police, I sped off the Seventh Street exit with just a few minutes to spare.

I looked at my clock. 11:40 a.m. I have five minutes to find parking and try to run my essay to the teacher before class ends.

Seven years of being at San Jose State University had given me an intimate knowledge of the rough parking situation around campus at any given time. My parking sense was telling me there wasn't anything open anywhere.

I parked in the only spot close enough to campus to let me make a break for it without getting towed: the 30-minute green zone marked for Subway customers on Tenth and San Carlos streets.

My 210 pounds of overweight Asian flab flew past curious onlookers at the entrance to campus.

I huffed and puffed as my legs propelled me through campus walkways and across lawns with posted signs painted "Don't step on the grass." I leapt over massive concrete ashtrays left by some generous but now forgotten fraternity and flung myself around sidewalk corners by anchoring onto lampposts, my arms acting like grappling hooks.

One minute, my watch told me as I arrived at the foot of the Engineering building.

Disregarding elevators, I worked my way up the four flights of stairs, jumping them two steps at a time. I ran across the squeaky clean floors of the building, rounded the last hallway corner and rushed into the classroom.

Only one person sat inside, a student I didn't recognize.

"Where is everybody?" I asked.

"Oh, I just got here," he said. He was from the Engineering class directly after mine. My class had already been dismissed.

My shoulders drooped as I exited slowly down the hallways I had so hurriedly scrambled up a few seconds before. My heart was still pounding. I took the elevator down this time.

I shuffled across the linoleum lobby of the building, staring down at my feet. I quietly thought, so this is it. Well, I guess I can chalk this up to another F.

As I lifted my head, I saw what I thought was my professor walking across a sidewalk on the other side of the large glass-panel windows. I squinted. Was that ... is it him?

The double-doors slammed against the wall as I shoved them aside.

It was him! I ran over and held my paper in my hand as my teacher turned to face me.

"Oh, hey, JaShong! We missed you in class today," he said. His eyes went over to my essay.

"I almost forgot about that," he said, then adding with a sly smile, "but you know I would've accepted it on Wednesday as well, right?"

JaShong King is Spartan Daily picture editor.

"Full Frame" appears every Monday.

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