The 8th Cirlce of Dante's Hell

Next week is the eighth week of the semester, midterm if you prefer. Undoubtedly, college students nationwide will be doing their part to keep Starbucks’ profits up. Those who prefer a cold, carbonated beverage will be keeping the Red Bull vendors busy as well. Midterm exams, presentations and papers are common this time of year: thanks to the evil professors that scheme to have them on the same days. Unbeknownst to those professors, there is a special circle of Hell reserved for them.
Literature professors like Dr. Joan Baker at FIU will teach that there were only seven circles to Dante’s Hell. But your friend, The Invisible Student, just happens to have a copy of the original text and there is an eighth, secret circle that is reserved for college professors that schedule their exams on the same day as their colleagues. Below the lustful and the gluttonous, the murderers and the suicides, the blasphemers, sodomites, hypocrites, thieves and traitors, are the devious educators.
At first glance, the eighth circle resembles a classroom. There are desks for the students and a podium for the professor. Spanning the wall behind the podium there is a white dry erase board. Above the dry erase board there is one of those generic, round Seth Thomas clocks with the white face and plain black numbers that match the plain black minute and second hands. The carpet is a boring, faded blue and is flat and lifeless after countless semesters of being trampled on by class after class of uncaring students wearing their cruel Nikes, Vans and Chuck Taylors.
In this classroom though, the students are always tardy, every one of them. Professors are helpless against the tardiness, too. Hell prohibits attendance policies. Once the students are all present and accounted for and the professors start to lecture, the students begin to open their sodas and snacks. Their sodas are all in cans and make that disruptive pfffffffffffk noise as the students crack them open and slurp down the foam that bubbles out of the top. Once they’ve wet their whistles, the students begin tearing open their loud plastic bags of Cheetos, Doritos, and Funyuns, which crunch loudly as they are shoveled by the handful into the students mouths.
Once snack time is over and the professor believes that he or she finally has the undivided attention of the students, they begin the lecture anew. After only a few minutes the professor can see the heads of the students begin to nod. As the students fight the weight of their eyelids and their chins fall closer to their chests, their heads spring back to attention, only to start nodding once again. Nap time only lasts a few minutes though and soon the students are at full attention. Only their attention isn’t directed towards the professor. No, after their brief naps, the students open their laptops and begin typing away, much to the professor’s chagrin.
As much as the students try to pretend that they are taking notes, and as much as the professor would like to believe that taking notes is what the pupils are doing, the educator knows better. This isn’t his or her first day in Hell, although today is exactly like the first day in Hell, as well as every day leading up to today. These students are undoubtedly surfing the web, checking their email or Facebook accounts, or checking the most recent posts on some message boards about hockey fights or college football recruiting.
Making matters worse, none of the students ever put their cell phones on vibrate. Slowly but surely each student’s phone rings. A few of them have polite, synthesized ringtones but most blare hip-hop, techno or heavy metal song snippets. In Hell there is no voicemail either. The calls don’t get redirected after only a couple of rings. The phones continue to ring until the students answer and then proceed to rudely conduct their conversations aloud.
Finally, the students seem to settle for a moment and the professor looks at the cookie cutter clock on the wall and sees that they still have ten minutes to get their point across to the students: ten minutes until this hellacious day is over. A moment of relief befalls the weary professor. That is when the students begin to pack up their stuff. They stuff their laptops back into their backpacks, crumple up their soda cans and snack wrappers and, in their best Kareem Abdul-Jabbar impersonation, skyhook them in the direction of the trash can. They all miss though, leaving a small pile of aluminum and cellophane encircling the trash can.
With one cheek still on the seat, the students impatiently await their release. They, like Dante, get to leave Hell. They get to go to this weekend’s football game, to college night at the local pub, to the Drink or Drown party at the Pike house on Friday night. The professor gets to stay here. In a matter of moments the bell will ring and release these students back into the world while at the same time signaling the start of the next class. Because much like the students who must suffer during midterms by going from one class to the next only to have the same fate awaiting them, professors who pile it on those students must spend eternity with the class from Hell.
Think about it.