Slice of Life – Matt Phillips

Descending the stairs into the humid basement of the Pacific building on University of Oregon’s campus isn’t the only queue to prompt you into feeling as if you have entered a different world. Murmurs of bits and pieces of scattered languages spill out into the hall from each classroom. The corridor is long and narrow so you must walk down the middle to avoid the legs jutting out from slumped bodies with their backs planted against each white brick wall.

Nervous chatter can be overheard outside one particular doorway as students discuss their fate; a test is only 10 minutes away. A few students chose to spend their last few moments of freedom hidden deep in the music of their headphones.

The view from the cold tile floor tells the story of these students’ fait very clearly. It’s judgment day for French 103. A professor wearing a black jacket with his dark hair gelled back turns down the lights and begins to show film that the students are supposed to analyze.

After the film ends, the teacher begins wheeling around the room on an oversized recliner office chair, stopping briefly near each group of clustered guests to eavesdrop. You can spot the sigh of relief on one young girls face as she gets passed by without being called on. A young man sitting by the window is not so lucky.

“Quel est le nom du professeur d’histoire?” the professor snaps off in very quick and very polished accent. The young man shakes his head and smiles as if to say, “I have no idea.”

“Professeur Graycon,” the teacher responds as a few heads in the class nod silently.

More broken responses of mixed English and French, blank faces, and stumbling voices fill the time until the class hurriedly begins to pack up to leave.

A girl in the hall in a green jacket and white scarf digs furiously through her notes as the previous class systematically fills out and heads directly towards the light at the top of the stairs. Escape.