"Are you really crying? Oh my God..." I hand you the box of tissues I have on my desk, and you timidly take one. "I know they're fake tears; that's not going to work on me."

Classes started a week ago, and the places for my subject are filled. I could say I'm one of the best professors at this college, because I truly am. Everyone calls me strict and mean, but no one can criticize my work method. Most of the students in my class pass because I explain things well, and they feel motivated to do things well. Maybe I ask for more than necessary? Yes, but they thank me later.

When I arrived at my office this morning, you were waiting outside like an abandoned puppy, saying you had something important to talk to me about. I knew exactly what you wanted to talk to me about because I'd heard about you before. You didn't sign up for my class all summer, and you want to come ask me to please make room for you. My subject is one of the ones that gives the most credits at this college, so everyone wants to be in it.

"You haven't filled out the application form all summer. I'm sorry, but I can't accept you. You'll have to find another class," I said, my tone cold.