Ronnie knew from an early age she wished to teach.

There were the impromptu classes held by way of coaxing her friends to play school; she would assign seats and lessons and ask them questions. Of course, many of her students were either not yet in school or behind her class level, so her questions were generally met with confused looks. And Ronnie used their ignorance to segue right into a providing a lesson for her dutiful young class.

By the time she reached high school, a teaching career was more than childhood whim; she was actively chatting after class with her instructors. No teacher escaped her questions on how they came to teach, how they learned to handle a class, to hold everyone’s attention, how they prepared lessons.

Few doubted Ronnie would enrol in an education programme, and the college in Keene specialised in preparing future educators. Given limited family resources, Keene seemed a likely destination.

And Keene it was.

Settling in to student life was easy. While Ronnie loved learning her future craft, she was no stranger to the unofficial activities which ran rampant at the institution, usually referred to under the blanket heading of: partying.

On one frustrating and cool fall night, Ronnie and Kate, roomies by random college selection, set out to register at the school pub. A rousing success from the moment it opened 3 years earlier, this small sliver of a facility was the seventh largest purveyor of draught beer in the entire state. And it held all of 77 people at any given time. The opening of the pub coincided with a drop in the minimum drinking age from 21 to 18, providing a ready supply of thirsty students. Factor in a draught costing all of $.25, and one had the makings of a thriving student organisation.

Registering was simple: fill out a short form, someone types up a paper card with appropriate info, and you are in – if there is a seat. Usually there was a waiting line to get in.

Entry was by way of a locked door. The barkeep would release the door as people left, allowing the same number in as were leaving. And so Ronnie and Kate waited, moving forward two people at a time, three people at a time, and then only one could be admitted. So they chose to wait for another inebriated student to keep their balance long enough to vacate the premises, and finally… they were in.

Find a small table, one unfortunately in close proximity to the bowling machine and new electronic pong game, Ronnie ventured to the bar to fetch a pitcher of beer (for $1.00) while Kate guarded their newly occupied turf claim. Once returned to the table, they started in on catching up on their day, their lives, and oh, isn’t that guy over there rather cute?

Kate was calling attention to a table 3 over and closer to the bar, where several people were setting. In fact, they had put a couple of tables together for expanded interaction and reverie. Most at the table were of the school rugby team, they of the undefeated record and nasty reputation (on the field.) And most were recognisable. Ronnie especially liked the star player, who was tall, lanky, personable, and very modest.

Fantasy aside, before the night was out, the player’s roommate would ask her out. And Ronnie would call him by the wrong name.