I missed half of Literature.
At the beginning of class I showed up to a lecture hall populated by four other sheepish-looking students who were already trying to figure out why there were only five of us there.
There is a strange sense of fellow-feeling that arises when you find yourself part of a group that has done something stupid together. There is safety in stupid numbers. You don’t look quite as stupid when there are enough people to spread the stupidity around a bit. “Look, the problem wasn’t just me! Other people made the same mistake! This was obviously poorly designed!”
One of the girls finally thought to text her friend, also in our class, and ask her where the class was. Ensued some asking the security guard in the John Percival lobby for directions and some skedaddling across the back lots of the humanities complex trying to find a building nicknamed “Hogwarts” (I couldn’t figure out why. Aberdare looks more Hogwarts-like than this building).
When we finally slunk into the classroom, half an hour late, the guest prof didn’t bat an eye. He handed us printouts of the slides and carried on.
As the story came out later, the regular prof assumed that everyone taking Modern Welsh Literature was also taking Welsh Language, so when the class venue was changed mid-week, she asked her colleague, the Welsh Language prof, to make the announcement in his class.