Contrary to what most people say about early morning rush, it does not have only one version. Its depiction in popular culture: a man or a woman with a venti tumbler of brewed coffee in tow and a leather sling bag coiled around his or her neck running or brisk walking to work is, like what I said, only one of the many possible permutations of this ugly phrase.
I am yet to see a version of a guy teaching Literature. It must be like this,
He wakes up at five in the morning, languishes in his bed for the next 30 minutes checking his Facebook, emails, a couple of international news site, then a national news site. He then comes up with a dreary opinion about where the world is heading. Feeling a little morose because the real seems to be heading nowhere, he clambers out of his bed and on to the kitchen to make some coffee. While waiting for it percolate,
He snatches a book from a nearby shelf, reads a chapter or spends several minutes sitting on the toilet bowl hoping to finish a short story right at the same moment the reason he is seated on a toilet bowl is successfully concluded.
It’s six o’clock. He goes out to the balcony to take a glimpse of the rising sun turning the sky tangerine by the seconds until it bursts into a bright lemony hue. Then it’s just the dreaded blue.
He goes to the corner of his unit, drops like a log and executes with perfection 50 push-up reps. He stands up, catches his breath, and again drops like a log, this time with less attention to form, does 30 push-up reps.
He then rushes to pick a nice pen from among his more than 50 different pens stacked neatly somewhere close to his working table. He grabs a clean sheet of paper and begins writing down his thoughts. He imagines himself being in class, trying a little too hard to make himself believable before a group of students who seems unconvinced.
It’s seven. The caffeine in his first cup proves insufficient, so he pours another cupful. Minutes after, his heart is on an overdrive. He can hardly think because the beating of his heart drowns whatever thought his brain is attempting to articulate. He writes organic, paralysis, invisibility, dichotomy, anathema, archetypal, and scribbles notes around the circled name of the protagonist.
At 7:30, he races to the shower, takes a quick bath, dries himself up, wears a shirt in muted color and pattern which is de riguer among professors of Literature, takes it off, and eventually decides on wearing a tight red shirt.
At eight, he appears all set.