I sat in the plastic, uncomfortable, rotating chair in the classroom as I waited for my friends to arrive. My black composition book was placed in front of me next to my critique letter for the day. Once again, it was full of issues I found within the story ranging from plot issues to grammatical issues. I took pride in my editing, much to the dismay of my classmates.
Only three other students were in the room, none speaking to each other. One student sat slumped down in his chair, staring at his phone while he scrolled through social media. Another sat staring down at her homework as if she was checking it for errors. The third sat fixated on her laptop trying to avoid eye contact with me since last class we had a dispute. She tilted her baseball hat down to cover her eyes and began typing on her laptop, causing a light tap tap tap sound to fill the previously silent room.
Suddenly, the door creaked open as two more students shuffled in to sit in silence with the rest of us. Bored, I decided to play a game on my iPhone 6s as I waited for my two friends to arrive. It vibrated in my hand as I received a text from one stating that she would be late because of a difficult workout. The door creaked open again as more students shuffled in, then the professor finally entered. She walked up to the front podium with the computer and began setting her stuff up for class. She lowered the projector screen and opened up the requirements for the workshop. Sighing, I looked over my critique letter that was addressed to the author of a very poorly written love story. Perhaps I was a critical reader, or the story was poorly done, but either way the letter was two pages long full of corrections to grammatical errors. Finally, my friend entered and sat across from me, laughing at the awkward silence in the room as she always did. We spoke about the story for a few minutes when the professor cleared her throat to get everyone’s attention. Class began.