A bus, a streetcar, three flights of stairs, one of them cobbled, which had probably seemed romantic at some earlier stage.
There is a queue at the front desk. The ticketing system imploded a few hours ago. “Amazing!” a rugger frat-kid announces. “Jim-Bob was there when it sucked itself in. Two chicks got pulled inside.” You suspend judgement. The need to acquire a replacement timetable overrides all sensational distractions.
Maybe.
Sooner than expected you have reached Trish at the front desk. The timetable problem isn’t difficult in itself, but the resolution is more labyrinthine than you had assumed. “We can fax a fresh copy of the timetable to you. Can we have a look at your access card?” There was some tapping on the terminal’s keyboard. “We don’t have a fax number in the database for you…”
You start to despondently step away, then a thought occurs to you. Someone else has stepped up to front desk, but for one uncharacteristic moment you reassert yourself. “Bae has a fax machine. Can I give you Bae’s number?”
Bae is more of an acquaintance than a friend, but you remember her saying something about her fax machine during English class. But where would she be now? Would she even be at the college? You struggle to remember anything important that might help: you’ve heard rumours that Bae can walk between raindrops. Interesting: yes; useful right now: no.
Sociology. Bae is studying sociology with Vic Vic.
Maybe it’s too much trouble, maybe it’s time to give up. (goto 68)
Or Perhaps you could try to find out where Vic Vic’s sociology class is? (goto 11)