Being with Fred for the past 8 years, I figured my days of doing the Walk of Shame were long over. But to my chagrin, it seems the Gods of Humiliation aren’t quite finished with me yet. So tomorrow morning, I’ll slip on the very clothes I’m wearing right now (and I really mean that because I haven’t done laundry this week, and this is France so I can), fold-up a square of toilet paper and wipe the flaking mascara from beneath my eyes and head out into the cold morning air. Embarrassed and tired, I’ll dodge upstanding citizens walking down the sidewalk on their way to work. Except this time, instead of walking from a regrettable experience, I'll be returning to the scene of one: Le Lycée Municipal d'Adultes de la Ville de Paris (The City of Paris High School for Adults). And, yes, “lycée” really does mean “high school” – would it kill them to leave me with a shred of dignity?
It was on the foregoing premises, in Room 10 at 10:30 this morning, where I took a 2 hour written French exam. After every other post high school exam, I've received the results via mail or posted on the wall next to an anonymous student I.D. number. But not here. And not tomorrow.
Tomorrow, I'll sit for the oral portion of the exam. More precisely, I'll be sitting face to face with the very professor who administered and corrected today's written exam. I can only imagine how awkward it's going to be as I look her in the eyes, searching for my words, trying to pretend that all that I did and all that I said the day before never happened.
And when it's all over, she'll grade my performance. To my face.