Improvisation is the Devil: a Memoir.

There are some moments in life that require your hidden and deeply suppressed talents to make themselves known. A collection of events can align so that your most unlikely capabilities are proudly displayed and your presence, previously established in some indeterminate form, gains new meaning in the eyes of those lucky enough to witness these events. These precious and infrequent opportunities can grant you insight into others, provided you are at the time conscious and reasonably sentient.

I've never had one of these moments, but they sure do sound nice. What can I say? Being an open book has its drawbacks. Now, what exactly was the point of all that rambling if I personally haven't experienced it? Firstly, a better question would be to ask whether or not I have ever had a point with anything I've ever made. Secondly, my point is that I needed an introduction to another exciting College Story™ and what better way to do that than in the most boring and pointlessly introspective way possible?

There is nothing that better represents higher education than rambling relentlessly about random topics while using facts of your own creation. It was upon this principle that I based my entire grade on when sitting in Leadership class on a Monday afternoon. My professor for this class, a big bear-like man whose name was Dexter, liked his classes to be "interactive" and "fun". This meant that he essentially played around on his phone for an hour and a half while we students wrote in-class essays on the chapters that none of us had read. He allowed us to bring our books and mutter amongst ourselves, so this was never a huge issue. At the start of this class, however, he had something else planned.

"ALRIGHT, GUYS!" he boomed cheerfully. "WE'RE GONNA DO SOMETHIN' DIFFERENT TODAY. YOU ALL CAN EITHER PRESENT AS A GROUP OR DO A BRIEF SKIT, LIKE IT SAYS HERE ON THE PAGE."

He went on to say that the work for that day was based on chapter twelve of our textbook, which covered adaptive leadership. Then he handed out a small piece of paper with instructions on it.

"YOU HAVE, OH-" He looked at the digital clock that was affixed to the back of the room. "-15-ISH MINUTES TO PREPARE FOR IT, SO GET WITH UP TO FOUR OTHER PEOPLE AND GET ON IT."

Immediately, four other people's heads jerked towards me, and they dragged their tiny, college-sized desks around me. A guy to my left who I knew rarely studied muttered, "Rats," as he realized that there were no more available spaces.

"So," I looked around at them, amused. "I guess you guys are my group?"

"Yep!" responded Christina, a girl I'd paired with before.

Desiree, a shy student who consistently knew the right answers to in-class questions but never spoke up, nodded at me and smiled. I'd worked with her, and a girl named Sara (I know nothing about her except her face), before also. There was only one new addition to our group, but since we had limited time to skim through the chapter, choose which activity to do, and plan it, I didn't ask for his name.

I looked through the instructions while the other students doodled on their pages or flipped through their textbooks, pretending to read. Since it was a group project, I fully expected to do the entire thing on my own. I slapped my own textbook down on my desk and skimmed through the chapter. This would be way more interesting if-

"Do any of you hate the idea of the skit?" I asked, looking up and meeting each person's gaze for a second.

"Um..." said Sara, trailing off and glancing at the far wall.

There was a moment of contemplative muttering.

"... I mean, I guess not," responded the one guy in our group. I still didn't know his name.

"Cool!" I bent back down over the page and started scribbling ideas.

I came across a term in adaptive leadership that essentially meant "to observe an issue from afar and, being detached from the issue, more easily solve it". It was called "getting on the balcony". That is the stupidest thing I've ever read, I thought. I'm gonna use it. My notes were getting a bit long and hard to read, even for me, which isn't saying much since my handwriting is nearly illegible at the best of times. Halfway through drawing an arrow from my marginal notes to the body, my pen paused. I tapped it against my face for a moment, thinking.

I jerked my head up abruptly and turned towards the guy.

"What's your name? I need it."

He looked taken aback for a moment. Then he smirked and said, "Bubbles."

I laughed.

"I can work with that," I grinned, before returning to my work.

Panic crossed his features. He leaned forward, stammering, "No no no wait! Wait! It's Jason! It's Jason."

I laughed again.

"I can work with that too."

If Jason had been worried before, he was now deeply concerned.  My notes were almost done. I started to rewrite them, just as the professor called out "5 MINUTES." I was cutting it a bit close with time, and the other students started to look anxious.

"We have no idea what we're doing," Jason grumbled, tapping his pencil against his desk.

"Don't worry," I told him absently as I stared at my page of hastily scrawled notes. "I can make it so that's okay. I'll give you cues."

But I wasn't just making sure that it was okay, I was relying on it. If done correctly, I could play out the lack of preparation as a part of the skit. I made one final addition, and then told Christina, Desiree, Sara, and Jason their roles. Out of some 11 groups of students, there were only two groups doing the skit. Since we were a minority, ours had to be good. Students presented their interpretations of adaptive leadership, discussing it before the class. All too soon, it was our turn.

The worry on their faces was all too clear now. Desiree was shaking from nerves. Christina gave me a look that said I really hope you know what you're doing. I took my single page of notes, and pulled a chair forward. I wanted to create a storytelling atmosphere, and all eyes turned to me as I casually sat down. I wasn't nervous. I grinned. I had an audience for my tale.

The skit went something like this:
"In the depths of night, after the sun had long since set, four brilliant and definitely not shady college students approached their shared apartment. At least, it was probably their apartment. Being night, it was kind of dark, which made it difficult to determine that sort of thing. None of them had brought the right keys, which was an inconvenience to all, especially since locked doors rarely open with a polite request. They stood around, not knowing what to do."

All four members of my group nodded sheepishly and waved. I looked up briefly to a sea, or, more accurately, a small pond, of entranced and entertained faces. I continued my narration.

"As they pondered what to do over this wild and unexpected conundrum, two of the students, Sara and Desiree, decided to enter through the door on the balcony. Sara awkwardly boosted Desiree."

"Hey!" Sara exclaimed as much in feigned surprise as real, before adding, "let me just help you get onto the balcony." She winked at the other students before pretending to boost Desiree up onto a ledge, which was really just a rickety chair. They both stumbled, adding authenticity to my former statement and making the class chuckle.

"The remaining two students stood there awkwardly for a moment before Jason, fondly referred to by the other students as 'Bubbles', had another shocking idea."

Both Christina and Jason unintentionally did exactly as I had said, resembling deer in headlights when they realized that the class was focused on them. Their attention had wandered, so the sudden silence caught them off guard... exactly how I had intended it. I looked at Bubbles. He jumped in surprise before pursing his lips and putting his hands on his hips effeminately. Using an accent to rival a Southern Belle, he nodded to Sara. "But, honey, what if we just... I don't know... picked the lock, sweetcakes?" The other students in the classroom chortled.

It was horrible; I loved it. I moved my gaze to Christina.

"As it happens, I always carry a lockpicking set with me. Who knew that'd come in handy?" Christina pulled a black pencil case from inside her jacket and unzipped it, spilling half of its contents before using two pencils to mime unlocking the door.

It was time to end this madness. I glanced down.

"So, using their combined resources of lockpicks, brilliant thinking, and mild acrobatic skills, the four decidedly not shady college students entered the apartment and locked it behind them." I paused. "Does anyone have any questions?"

What followed next was a confused medley of inquiries. None of the questions asked were about the actual topic, which was supposed to be the reason for the presentations. Instead, in a much more gratifying turn of events, I was asked about the story. Why did the students not have their keys? Was that even their apartment? What "not shady" person carries lockpicks? Towards the end of the skit and afterwards, my professor stared at me like he'd never seen me before. Dexter relied on the class to provide me with questions, because, unusually and completely contrary to his character, he had none.