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The Number 7 Slot

It was Friday afternoon of the first week back at school. Week one is difficult for me. My feet start hurting again. My voice falters and Throat Coat is in order. I am tired, even though we just had two weeks off. I know it will be better next week, but it just doesn’t seem right that week one should feel that way.

The period was just about over. The students were finishing an exit ticket. 

“Mister, where should we put them when we’re done?” someone asked.

This really shouldn’t be a mystery. We had exit tickets last semester. They went in the turn-in box every time. But, it’s a new semester, a new year. 

“Right over here,” I said. (I was standing near the classroom door which is where the turn-in boxes are — one for each period.) “Right here in the number 7 slot.”

“Seven!?” someone said. “It’s fifth period Mr. Hasan, not seventh.” Half the class was staring at me.

Dang. For 45 minutes there, I was blissfully, if erroneously, thinking that it was the end of the day. Oh well.