At the time of the blackout (what has now become an instant urban legend), I was in the library talking to a friend. A collective gasp echoed through the darkened halls as the students who were putting their final touches on their term papers now stared at an empty screen. Hands flew in the air, eyes weld up in tears, and there was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. The poor souls jamming out to Justin Bieber on their iPods (19-year old guys are powerless against his gentle coos) studying for their mid-terms flocked to whatever beams of light they could find to preserve the precious few last minutes to cram before their noon class. Alarms began to sound, students became enraged, staff members found themselves at the mercy of the hurry up and wait game. It was hysterical.
Curious as to what the haps were beyond the confines of Payson, I bravely traversed the great outdoors and and headed towards the Tyler Campus Center. The Plaza was hopping with students complaining about not having a wireless signal, but hoping that the power outage would last long enough to cancel classes. "I don't know what to do. I can't get on the Internet to check Facebook," I heard one student exclaim in frustration. "It's the amazing the impotence that comes with technology," I thought to myself in one half of my brain. "But, she does raise an excellent point," I said to myself in the other half.
Down the stairs I went, headed towards the Caf, anxious about what I could witness. 500 hungry, study-crazed college students ready to eat without the hope of having a hot meal during lunch time cannot be a happy scene. A dull roar floated down the hallway as I approached the entrance. To my right, cooks scurried around a dark kitchen trying to salvage anything they get their hands on, to my left, students salivating in line at what would be their fuel for thought. The Caf manager rushes by me, but takes a second to say hello and let me know that they are working on getting things up and going. Realizing that a feeding frenzy is just on the horizon, I have an epiphany and realize that my apartment, just a short hike up the hill (of course made a bit longer by the wet, slippery sidewalks and my heeled boots-poor wardrobe choice for the day), is equipped with a gas range. Score.
Trotting back up the stairs, I stop to say hello to a few cluster of students and dispel any rumors of an impending apocalypse or food shortage and reassure them the the power will eventually return. Walking past Smothers, I see a group of current and former RAs and begin to catch up on life and other frivolities. Mid conversation, I begin to hear the pitter-patter of water droplets; much to my dismay, it was not coming from the sky. The fountain began to seep out water. Highly doubting that the fountains (even if they are a source of pride for Pepperdine) were on some sort of back up generator, I begrudgingly squeaked out the words, "I guess the power's back on." "You seem disappointed," one of my students says. "This just means I have to teach class today," I reply. "Are all professors like you?" "Yep. Secretly, yep."
P.S. I am writing this from the front of my classroom while my students are working on an in-class assignment.
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