The Art of Entering Class Late

First day of Italian school. Now I’m really studying abroad. After two weeks of vacation mode it was time to settle into a routine and actually learn something (other than a boat load of Italian.)

I showered, ate a good balanced breakfast, grabbed my new monogrammed backpack and set off for the mile walk to my school (uphill both ways, in the snow, of course). I wore a dress, but didn’t bother with my hair because Roman humidity can frizz even the tamest of hair. I power walked with my apartment-mate and new friend Sarah, and we arrived 10 minutes early for our first class. Golden.

I sat through the hour and forty minute class and explained that I had little to no interest in journalism beyond my self-titled “self help and travel blog” (which is obviously glorifying what my blog actually is). She smiled politely and said she hoped this class would inspire all six of us in it. She let us go early telling us we all needed a coffee.

I set out with my friend to a dinky diner kiddy corner to my school and chatted loudly (as all Americans do) over a P&P sandwich and a soda. 2:45, we have time. Half a sandwich later we were still chatting. 2:50, we’re still good, class definitely starts at three. A full sandwich down we gather our belongings and go back to our school. We walk up the steps and I noticed its oddly quiet. I wandered over to the student lounge and chatted with my friends. It was then, and only then that I looked at the schedule to see what time class ended that I figured out I was actually 10 minutes late for my 5 person intermediate Italian language course in classroom X. I walked up to the door, took a deep breath, and opened it to a very polite professor who simply said “prego?”. I said “Scusi, sono in questa classe” and shuffled to the last seat open in the front row. He laughed and said “so you’re my late girl!” and allowed me to sit. I turned back, red as a tomato and said I was sorry. He asked my name, I told him. He then switched to Italian asking me where I was from. I answered “Chicago”. He asked me what I study in Chicago. I answered “teatro musicale” and he gasped. I figured I was going to get the usual “well what are you going to do with that?” question I get every time I tell a muggle that I am a theatre major. Instead, he said (in english)“I HAVE ALL READY FORGOTTEN YOU WERE LATE AND I ALREADY LOVE YOU!”

And that, my fine friends, is how to make an entrance.

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