By JO EARLY
It was like the opening scene to a horror movie, and I was the First Girl Down. I’d worked my 9 a.m. to 5 p.m., grabbed some dinner and arrived at the Washington Street Campus for my night class. I groaned when I realized I couldn’t park by the Parcells/Byrd Building due to flag football in the park, so I resigned myself to the walk and parked by the AMoA.
I got out of class a little before 9 p.m. and trudged across campus, looking forward to getting home, getting in my comfy clothes and turning my brain off by watching a little Netflix.
Right at 9 p.m., the tall lights illuminating the parking lot went out. The car I’d so strategically parked under one of the light posts was no longer washed in the comforting light of safety but illuminated only by the waning gibbous moon.
Heart racing and pepper spray in hand, I hauled my tired body across the ominous lot into my car’s safety, and only breathed easy once I had the door locked and the headlights on. I was safe. This time.
Am I being dramatic? Absolutely. But I remember the great clown panic of 2016. I listen to true-crime podcasts, I read the news articles. I know what can happen on a seemingly ordinary night.
Not only are night-class students and instructors literally left in the dark, but it also seems that AC can be in the dark when it comes to our safety during inclement weather. Night classes can be both a blessing and an unfortunate necessity for people who work a set 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. schedule. It makes our days longer, cuts into our social life and I know I’m pretty bleary-eyed and craving a doze when the sun sets.
All I want after a packed day like that is to get home safe. Instead, I got an adrenaline spike.
All I want to say to AC is, “Hi, we’re here too. Please leave the lights on a little longer for your students who are burning candles at both ends.”