At last, the minute hand moves. Sixty more ticks until it moves again. Sixty more moves until the hour hand shifts and you can leave. Time is crawling. The clock must see you glaring at it because it moves slower and slower until you’re not sure if it moves at all.
You wonder, ‘Is this hell?’
In desperation, you plot an elaborate escape for the door, one so advanced it would make the Mission Impossible plots look like child’s play by comparison. Perhaps you could crawl under the desks and make your escape. Would the other students snitch on you? Would they join?
Your eyes glaze over. The professor continues to drone about “Sixty Uses of Cardboard“.
This is hell, you’re sure. What else can this be?
Moments like these never end.
But there is an escape if you can daydream. It’s one of the benefits of being a daydreamer.