I slowly creaked open the door to Cultural Anthropology 301. Mr. Capshaw's back was to me, writing with marker on the white board. Classmates diligently took notes while Capshaw spoke about cannibals. It was becoming a habit of mine to be fifteen minutes late—parking was impossible at college.
I hunched down and went down the row of desks, scanning for any empty spots. Students watched me as I sneaked by, some giggling and others scoffing.
Why did the whole world only pay attention to me when I was late?
A vacant seat sat all the way at the end of an aisle. Everyone shifted their feet to make way for me as I shuffled through. I passed by Kyle and my heart almost jumped out of my chest.
I was sitting so close to him! He threw a smile at me and I almost melted. His tight graphic t-shirt showed off all his muscles. Why couldn't I get a guy like him?
I wanted so badly to tell Kyle how I felt, but I'd never even spoken a word to him before. I only watched him from afar, studying his figure closely.
I gently laid my backpack down and took my seat. Mr. Capshaw's back was still turned away— the teacher didn't notice me.
“Nice of you to join us, Ms. Turner,” he announced, turning around to face me.
Busted.
I flushed scarlet and sunk into my chair. The students around me laughed. Kyle smirked at me. This had to be the most embarrassing moment of my life.
“Like I was saying before Ms. Turner interrupted us, it's time for your final paper.” Mr. Capshaw wrote Final Paper on the white board with a sad face next to it.
A collective groan echoed throughout the room.
Mr. Capshaw put up his hands in defense. “I know, I know. Most of you have been dreading this since the beginning of the year, but I assure you, it's not as bad as people have told you.”
My palms were sweating and I shifted in my seat. I'd heard that Capshaw graded these papers with an iron fist. Since it accounted for fifty percent of your grade, some students failed the class because of it.
“Let me explain what it's all about and then you guys can judge it. I think a lot of you will actually enjoy the process.” A kid on the other end of the room raised his hand. Capshaw dismissed him. “No questions yet. Let me finish.”
The kid put his hand back down. I pulled out my notebook and flipped to an empty page.
“Each and every one of you will go out in the field and study a culture that I assign you,” the professor said in his booming voice. The students looked at one another in confusion. “You're going to use everything that you've learned over the course of the semester. I want you to interview people, observe them in their natural habitats, and record any profound discoveries. Don't just write what you think I'd be interested in, write what you're interested in.
This is what anthropology is all about. We could read endless books about what others have done before, but until you do it for yourself, you can never really appreciate it. Now I'll take questions.”
A girl in the back raised her hand. “Yes, Ms. Harper?”
“What cultures will we be studying?”
“I'm glad you asked.” Mr. Capshaw walked over to his desk and pulled out a long sheet of paper. Depending on what you get, you're going to be assigned a fraternity, sorority, or a club that's in or outside this school; for example, Ms. Harper, you will be studying the mysterious and wild Anime Club.
The students all laughed.
A student in the front row raised his hand. “Have you ever done field work, Mr. Capshaw?”
The teacher looked offended but then smiled. “Of course I have. You think they'd let any old man come in and teach? I've been to Africa, South America, and the tiniest islands you can imagine. I've studied KKK groups and even tribes that practiced in cannibalism.”
Mr. Capshaw taped the paper to the white board. “Come on up and see what you got. Mr. Shavers you can stay seated.” Everyone turned their head and looked at the meat-head jock in the middle row. “Don't worry, I assigned you the Sigma Zeta sorority.”
“Fuck yeah, thanks Mr. C!”
The class stood up from their seats and began shambling over to the front. I followed the crowd and waited patiently while each student found their name and what club they were assigned. My finger trailed down the list until I found my name.
Veronica Turner Veterans Association
Veterans? Was that his idea of a joke? Did he really want me to interview old people?
“That's it for today. But I want you to get in contact with your clubs and set up times to meet with them. You only need a few days to observe them. We'll skip next week's class and come back in two weeks when your paper is due. If you have any questions during that time, feel free to email me.”
Everyone began gathering their things and leaving while I stayed at the front of the class. I approached the teacher as he crammed papers into his briefcase.
“Mr. Capshaw, I don't quite understand my assignment.”
The teacher grinned. “Ms. Turner, you got the Veterans Association. I've been trying to get them to participate in this program for years—for some reason they said yes to me this time.”
“Are you punishing me for being late?”
“Punishing?” Mr. Capshaw said in shock. “I gave you the most interesting one. Would you rather have the Archery Club or the Poker Club?”
“Well, no,” I replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“I gave you this because I know you can handle it. You may be late all the time but you have potential, Ms. Turner.” The teacher snapped his briefcase shut and began walking out. “Just be careful, Veronica, those men can be dangerous at times.”
Dangerous?
I smiled. “Thank you Mr. Capshaw. I'll do my best.”