Ethnography
...rect, his green eyes filled with humor and openness. They looked like some of those sporty, funny, “never-get-their-work-done” guys. The humor in their faces interested me. “Where are you going”, I asked the white guy, hesitant of his answer because of his unfamiliarity. “I am going to the…..”. All of a sudden, the streaky sound of an electric guitar flowed through our ears. The randomness of this music and the timing caused all three of us to laugh. The black guy leaned forward onto the wet railing, weak because of laughter. The white guy threw his head back and chuckled. “As I was saying, I am going to class”. I was a bit curious as to why he was wearing: basketball shorts, a tshirt, and basketball shoes, and no bookbag. I asked him why, and he carelessly replied “I am already late, and my professor is probably not going to let me into the classroom, so I might as well go to the Rec. Do you want to come with me?” “Well, I have an assignment to do, but I will walk half way with you; I have a couple of questions to ask you.” His name was Samuel. He seemed to be nonchalant and laid back. “Where are you from Samuel?” “Call me Sam sweetheart! Originally, I am from New York. But my family and I moved around a lot because of my dad’s job,” he answered. I asked him, “What have you learned by traveling here to North Carolina?” “Man, everyone around here is from everywhere else!” “Why did you come to UNCG?” After a long pause and quick glance of approval in his friend’s direction, Samuel answered, “Because I wanted to come to a college that I could easily get through. I guess I am in the wrong place!” The conversation ended at Sam and his friend’s departure from the walkway. My walk back towards Cone began. After returning to the front of Cone, the darkness settling in, the flicker of the sidewalk light seized my thoughts. The door opened once again, and a short, chunky black girl came out. She had a pleasant look on her face. Her glasses hung low on her face, causing her to look over her glasses to see in front of her. She looked educated; two novels in her hand, a pencil behind her ear, and hair neatly pinned back. “Excuse me, but can I ask you a few questions?” “Sure you can! But only for a while because I cannot be late to my class.” Her positive and upbeat voice led me to ask, “What class are you going to?” “Psychology! I love that professor! Do you take psychology? Do you know anyone who does? Is psychology required in your major? It should be required in everyone’s major! It’s so fun!” “No”, I said with an overwhelming feeling of being positively, enthusiastically interrogated. Her bookbag was packed full, seemingly weighing her down. “What is your name?” I asked. “My name is Tamera, but you can call me Tam.” “Okay…uh…Tam. What motivates you to go to class on your own? After all, we are college students, and we a...