Having grown up a child of suburban sprawl, walking to class is really not my thing. Back home, my gold ’94 Toyota Previa takes me wherever I please. Chugging along in Old Yeller Submarine – my windows rolled down on account of a broken A/C – I look pretty B.A. as I carpool my sister and her friends to and from school.

Imagine with me the difficulties of getting around campus each morning after being king of the high school parking lot. Things are different on foot. When my alarm clock starts its serenade, I wake and get ready to do battle with my morning commute.

Pulling a pair of sweatpants over my jeans and a hoodie over a sweater, I walk to the bathroom looking like an apt punching bag for other reluctant early risers. In front of the mirror, I try to tame my bed head, combing out the jutting peaks and matted valleys of hair. To my disappointment, the anime inspired hairstyle looks significantly less super-heroic in real life than in the cartoons, so I shove my head underneath a faucet and let the water wash the irregularities away.

Leaving Illini Tower each morning is especially difficult. Ridiculously cold winter gusts blast through the wind tunnel in front of the building, and gale force winds routinely batter my umbrella and cause it to invert. I suspect NASA uses the windswept terrace to run aeronautics tests on Sunday mornings.

The actual trek is a daunting task of remembering acquaintances’ names as they chirpily greet me in passing. Snapping out of my drowsy stupor, the best I manage is a “Uhh heeey! (awkward pause as I grasp at straws for a name) … How are you?”

Usually, I end up accidentally stepping in an icy puddle of melted-snow-and-sidewalk-rubbish stew, and the banter changes to how I need a pair of water-proof shoes.

At times, my mind wanders and I find myself forgetting where it is I’m going. Even a third of the way through the semester, I still occasionally walk into the wrong class on Monday mornings if I don’t conscientiously plan my route. On more than one of these occasions, I have backpedaled across the Quad to the right class twenty minutes late, flustered and deceitfully muttering something about a professor who refused to end lecture punctually. On other occasions, I sit through the wrong lecture and take notes anyway, too embarrassed to have 300 pairs of eyes watch me as I leave.

I’ve put a great deal of thought into my conundrum and am currently evaluating new ways to get to class in the morning. Living on campus, I am a little ashamed that my morning commute is such a trying ordeal.

More recently, I’ve been trying to master the Champaign-Urbana bus system. Sadly, the schedules and routes continue to baffle me. A few weeks ago, I decided to try taking the 22 to get to the computer labs on the east side of campus, hopping conveniently on the first 22 to pass by the Illini Union Bookstore.

It wound through the Engineering Quad and then down Lincoln Avenue, pausing two blocks from my end destination. Then, in manifest spite, it turned around and rumbled back in the direction of the bookstore. Glancing at time on my wristwatch, I sighed and resigned not to go to class. This is how I discovered the dual existence of the 22 North and 22 South.

I wouldn’t say that my problems stem from sloth. I think that I have directional amnesia. The physical act of walking to class isn’t such a terrible thing. Rather, I think it’s all the morning distress that causes me to end up in the wrong classroom time after time. The spectacular bed head displays, chasing after runaway umbrellas, and making small talk with nameless acquaintances – these are the baleful problems that beset and distract me in the morning.

Lately, I’ve been thinking of bringing Old Yeller Submarine to campus to alleviate the problem. In a car, I don’t need to worry about the wind or people’s names. Sadly, as I tried to navigate campus in a friend’s car the other day, I realized that one-way streets and parallel parking make this an impossible reality.

So here’s the rough draft of my next proposal:

Dear Mom and Dad,

Can I have a Segway?

Love,

Henry

Henry is a freshman in Business. He thinks he’ll add some nifty chrome spinners to his Segway.