Keys Myaths
Pokerguy
I hate telling this story, but I always do anyway.
I was an RA in the dorms. Sophomore year of college. On Sept. 10th, three of my residents came knocking on my door at 7:30, well before I was awake, wanting directions to a building on campus. I had given them all maps, and taken them all on a tour, so I was pretty upset to be woken up. I was nice about it, surprisingly--just asking them next time they had a problem like this, do it the night before, or sometime when I'm not sleeping.
The next day, I didn't have class, and had an Italian test at 12:00. I'm not sure what time it was, but I heard another knock on my door. I was asleep--so I wrapped myself in my comforter and answered the door, with a pretty angry look on my face.
Three of my residents were there, crying. Two were from NYC. Thankfully, their families ended up being okay. The third girl, however, said something that still makes my heart sink:
"I think my parents were on one of the planes. I can't reach them."
It was the worst day of my life. We spent hours trying to call and figure out what happened, until the police showed up asking for her.
I can't imagine what it was like for her when those people came to tell her that her suspicions were true. Terrorists had killed her parents.
Oh, and I'd like to still give a big f-you to the Italian professor who gave me a 0 for not showing up for the test.
I was an RA in the dorms. Sophomore year of college. On Sept. 10th, three of my residents came knocking on my door at 7:30, well before I was awake, wanting directions to a building on campus. I had given them all maps, and taken them all on a tour, so I was pretty upset to be woken up. I was nice about it, surprisingly--just asking them next time they had a problem like this, do it the night before, or sometime when I'm not sleeping.
The next day, I didn't have class, and had an Italian test at 12:00. I'm not sure what time it was, but I heard another knock on my door. I was asleep--so I wrapped myself in my comforter and answered the door, with a pretty angry look on my face.
Three of my residents were there, crying. Two were from NYC. Thankfully, their families ended up being okay. The third girl, however, said something that still makes my heart sink:
"I think my parents were on one of the planes. I can't reach them."
It was the worst day of my life. We spent hours trying to call and figure out what happened, until the police showed up asking for her.
I can't imagine what it was like for her when those people came to tell her that her suspicions were true. Terrorists had killed her parents.
Oh, and I'd like to still give a big f-you to the Italian professor who gave me a 0 for not showing up for the test.