Sometimes it would appear that microcosms only appear in the construed confines of literature, television, and movies, but if you look into any given room, you'll probably find a pretty good real life example. Though we can't all be the Breakfast Club, I've noticed a little bit of a college microcosm in my place of work, a tutor center.
Sitting idly at the well-worn but sturdy tables, waiting for the confused masses to seek our help, the tutors turn to discussing their life stories.
There's the middle-aged woman, proudly boasting of her kid's accomplishments and grumbling about her husband's inability to stick to a diet (as she shoveled chicken and gravy into her mouth), while grasping an anatomy book in her other hand. She tutors between singing in the college and church choirs, and has taken it upon herself to be the mother hen of the center. She councils one tutor about his less than perfect four year relationship for an hour after she's supposed to be off work, and even inquires into the nature of my relationship with another random tutor, who I actually only met three days ago. She's only known me a week but insists upon checking on my safety.
Then there's the college party movie walking stereotype. He failed out of a four year university and is now enthusiastically tutoring science and math. He walks around the school with music forever blaring from one headphone, which only parts from his ear during class and while tutoring. At all other times, he loops it up through his shirt for a constant stream of tunes. It often causes him to speak a little louder than necessary, but the volume matches his strange vibrancy in what seems to be a disappointing situation. But he's always all smiles, except for eight in the morning, when he slouches over his laptop, half-asleep. Ipod blaring.
Then there's the hesitant fatherly, criminal justice program types who usually just come in, do their jobs, and leave. But occasionally the social environment gets the best of them and they stay to chat about their latest parental woes, or gesticulate wildly about their hunting trips or NASCAR races.
And there's the guy who is always, always there, whether tutoring with extreme patience and skill or entertaining young (and, let's face it, dorky) students with his quick wit. He appears to tutor half the school as well as attending school himself, but is never frazzled. He's a regular staple of the place and everybody jokes with him because he takes it all so well. It's hard to tell how long he's been at the college (he randomly mentions so many different institutions of higher learning, including my beloved Chapel Hill) but he seems very content on his computer in the back corner of the room.
And of course, there are the fearless leaders. One always, always tutoring, and occasionally popping in to crack a joke at an understanding employee's expense. But the other one is full of surprises. Seemingly mild mannered, but in downtime conversation, he'll random through in a detail about being on probation in his younger years, a pop culture reference to Twilight, or mention how hyped up he gets on caffeine, with a maniacal glint in his eye.
And me. My friend and I are the youngest and most inexperienced, technically still being in high school, and we sit quietly off the side and watch the others interact, only joining ourselves at opportune moments.
The room to the tutor center is tucked away in the rarely trodden upstairs region of the library, unobtrusively going about its business. But inside, a whole separate social circle teems, representing the student body in the best ways possible.
No comments:
Post a Comment