When I was a freshman in college, I decided I wanted to take a class in meteorology to satisfy my natural science requirement. However, when I got to the lecture hall I realized that I was in a geology class instead. This was the first of two occasions in which I registered for the wrong class by accident. I was about to leave because, c'mon, who likes looking at rocks, right? I'll tell you who: hot professors. Thus, I decided to give geology a shot and give up my dream to be a weather-girl.
Unfortunately, my first instinct was right: rocks are indeed boring, so I didn't really put much effort into the course. At that time I was also in my first musical ever, Godspell, so igneous rocks were the least of my concerns. By the time mid-terms rolled around, I realized I was failing rock-class miserably so I made an appointment to speak with my professor. I told him I was an English major and understood very little about numbers and elements and the like. I also told him I had been very busy with my first musical production, but I was hopeful I could pull my grade up somehow. Nothing in the world would've allowed me to foresee what happened next. I found myself singing the Godspell theme-song in his cramped, rock-piled, windowless office; it was just the two of us, and me singing. I felt dirty.
I got an A on the test that followed and I never knew what I got on the final. Whatever, I passed the class with a B.
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