UD walks into the room in GW’s Elliott School building where she’s giving her Modern British Poetry final exam. No students are there yet, but a man, a Muslim, is on the floor praying. The exam takes place in minutes, so UD silently – as silently as she can – puts her computer on the front desk and prepares to hand out blue books.
The man stands up and looks at her. “Is there a class in here?”
“I’m giving a final exam.”
“Ah. Well, I’ll finish somewhere else.”
“Sorry to interrupt you.”
“No problem. What’s the class?”
“Modern British poetry.”
“Do you read Kipling?”
“He’s not quite modern enough. More of a Victorian.”
“Ah. Well, nice to meet you.”