Behind a beige desk, on a green metal chair connected securely to the desk by a thick piece of metal, is my spot. Every day, very carefully, I must climb over the bar to sit in my spot – a spot that must be fought for daily. If I stop in the hall to tie my shoe, I lose the spot and am banished to the back of the room. Law class is so argumentative that there are even arguments about seating. We are so loud that we close the door to the hallway to keep the hallway quiet.

M stood up to close the wooden door that separated our dystopia from the hallway. My phone began to ring. Usually, it just vibrates. But this time it rang, and quite loudly too. I had to take it out of my pocket to turn it off – I could not wait for it to simply finish ringing. That was a challenge though because of the desk design. The only way I could take my phone out was if I got up from my desk. I slid out the left side and placed my hand into my pocket, grabbing the ringing phone. I flipped it over to read the caller ID as I was turning it off. It was an important call that I couldn’t miss.

I moved the phone toward my face. Placed it near my ear, and answered it. M stood beside the door still, staring.

“Hello?”

I explained that I couldn’t talk right now and asked them to call me back later. M continued to stare, a shocked expression on her face. I hung up the phone, placed it back in my pocket, and looked at my law teacher: M.

M was shocked. She could not – would not – say anything for a minute while I stood there with a guilty expression on my face. It was an important call that I couldn’t miss. I needed to pick up the phone. If it was someone else, I wouldn’t have answered it.

M didn’t know what to do or how to respond. She said that she wasn’t trained for that at teacher’s college.

I felt really bad.

But later on J interrogated a visitor about whether falafels or half-falafels were being sold at lunch. “One fills you up, and the other leaves you hungry – I must know!”