(1) The professor glanced hastily around the room as he entered, then he looked suspiciously over at the blackboard. While removing his overcoat he read the scrawl that the previous class had 1eft, and judging it unnecessary cutter, he daintily lifted the eraser and waved it back and forth in front of the class, until the board was clear. He checked his watch. (It wasn't yet time to start class. So the teacher started to pace back and forth in front of the class. Nervously stroking the lock of hair that covered his bald spot.) This man had obviously been setting in a stuffy office in front of a computer screen for too long. Math professors should get out in the sun more. I noticed his pale skin and the many nicks he'd gotten shaving his overly sensitive face.

(2) Finally it was time to start. He began by presenting an example: you want to house a football team with 20 white players and 20 black players. What is the probability that all of the pairs of roommates will be of the same color. “A hundred percent, I said. Okay. I know it was a poor attempt at humor, but 1 could have sworn no one had heard me. Not one person flinched, sighed, (moaned), or giggled. Nothing. They didn't even turn their heads to see what jerk said that.

(3)“Okay, either everybody in this class is dead, or I am," I thought. I pinched myself. No, it wasn't me. I watched everyone else copy down what the teacher had written on the board. So they were at least (animate). (The professor was doing a good job of dealing with the dilemma and posed questions at which a few members of the group guessed). I wondered why he was being paid to talk to corpses.

(4) Yes, something was definitely wrong here. This man was talking to 30 dead people who were diligently copying down his every word. (Now the only reason I could see for the lack of response by his audience was that they didn't share my interest in probability). That seemed reasonable, but I couldn't imagine why anyone would take a 400-level math course unless he was a math major, or at least a math minor No, these people were interested in the topic.

(5) Maybe they all understood exactly what he was saying and didn't have to ask any questions. I still couldn't explain the blank stares and the silence, as heavy as the silence of parting lovers, whenever the professor asked a question. The room was too big for the quiet and I felt awkward there. (Everyone seemed to want to leave, but there he was, the man up there with the chalk holding the whole class silent and holding all of us hostage.)

(6) All of these (tortured) faces were looking straight ahead and they were taking it all down, just like it was, so that they could go back to their little cells and look it over and over again until they had it memorized. And if they couldn't understand it, they would ask someone else in the class who would invariably say,“I don't know. I'm not sure I understand that part either.”

(7) Nobody ever goes to a teacher's office hours, either. I've gone to see my teachers, and there's never anyone else there. The professor sets up time when he can sit and wait for students to talk to him and no one shows up, week after week. It's nice because teachers are human, too, and they need time alone. I guess that zombies don't leave their cells unless they have class. I looked over at the people next to me. How did they get that way in the first place?

(8) What in the world was I doing in this ridiculous class, writing down a description of the teacher's clothing? (I was listening to the words. and I even had some vague comprehension of what he was discussing, but I really couldn't explain my attendance.) But what I really couldn't explain was the professor's presence. He seemed to have a good sense of humor about the fact that we were all sitting there dead, but I don't know how he could face us that way. I kept wanting to get up and shout at the class myself, say,“Hey, what are you doing here? Aren't you paying for this? Didn't you come here to learn?" I couldn't face these zombies as boldly as this man was. He didn't scream or despair. He just kept on talking. And I kept on thinking:“This is an institution of higher learning.”

What made the author believe that the professor needed more sunshine?