Exercise: Write a short introduction from an unusual viewpoint.

Roused from sleep by an incessant banging at 7:53 a.m. on the nose, just like every other weekday, my awakening was met by a chorus of groans and disappointment.  I don’t mind, though.  I know my timely calls to action bring order and organization to the masses of young student minds.  Four minutes later, the banging repeats, after which I enjoy 42 full minutes of relief.

During my rest, I observe students wander into the room and eventually find their seats.  Don is always first in the room, quietly sitting down and pulling out his notebook.  Theresa is always last, arriving in a state of disrepair and barely organized chaos.  When the instructor begins her work, Jessica focuses on every word.  Dylan splits his attention between staring at me and staring at the iPhone he thinks he has so carefully concealed below the desk.

Rob, however, stares straight ahead at the teacher, but his mind is focused on bigger issues.  Where will he sleep tonight?  Can he talk his friend Ben into sharing a bagel with him?  Can his life get any worse?  For Rob, every wave of my hands is another minute of internal agony.  And the class continues.

The day plods on in similar fashion… 9 o’clock, 10 o’clock, 11 o’clock, until the final bell at 3 p.m., when students fly out of their seats like ejecting pilots, coming alive in a chorus of yells and cheers.  A few minutes later the room is empty, silent, dead.  I relax in the stillness, enjoying the peace and quiet of the breezy afternoon in anticipation of tomorrow’s repeat performance.