My
past came back to haunt me, with a vengeance. The voicemail was from a
classmate I barely remembered, from a class I wished I could forget, first
semester of my senior year of college.
"Hey,
Lynny, it's Harrison Kamel from the 'commercial psych practices' class at WBC.
Long time no hear, huh?"
I
couldn't remember the name right off, but the class, I did remember. Utter misery.
I was glad I hadn't been there to take the call. I wanted to delete the message
right there, but I had been working at the Tattler long enough to have a
sense for phone messages that I needed to hear through to the end. The end
always contained the dangerous portion. So I kept listening. Hopefully, the
worst of the call would be to find out he was on his way in to visit me. Hopefully,
I had time to go out another door.
"Commercial
psych practices" was exactly what it sounded like. I took it only to
fulfill requirements for my teaching certificate. I got twice the credits for
half the time spent in the classroom because it was an experimental class.
Seriously, I should have taken warning from the "experiment" those
poor professors had tried to carry off on the entire freshman class, my first
year of college. Despite that, I took the class to get those credits and have
more time for guardian duties. And yeah,
there was this guy I started dating. That didn't end well, either. The class
basically studied how to use psychology for commercial practices, such as
advertising.
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