There were supposed to be nine of us, including me. (I know because I asked.) Eventually, seven others showed up.
In the front row to my right, with an unused computer between us, were a husband and wife sitting next to each other. (Husband nearer me, wife farther away.) Late middle age? The “young old?” She had a charming giggle; he had a notebook. Like me, he would take occasional notes after the class began — apparently for both of them, as she wrote nothing.
Behind me was a lovely blonde woman with a sweet smile (and, when she stood up at the end of class, long shapely legs in narrow jeans). She had a sweet and helpful disposition, too. Twice during class, she jumped up to help me find something on the screen. Two places to her right, and spaced out with a computer between each, were two guys in their thirties. Pleasant enough looking.
A fourth woman — older — sat down behind the blonde. I couldn’t get a good look without completely turning around in my seat and seeming rude, so I can only describe her voice, which wavered in alarm when she cried out, “But I only know Apple!”
And also in the third row , two computers over from the distraught Apple lady, there sat a burly man in a short-sleeved black tee shirt with hair cut short, lips turned inwards and very thick arms closely wrapped around himself whenever he wasn’t typing. As if he had secrets to hide.
A disparate group. What personal reasons could have brought us all here?
That was indeed the very question with which LeMasney began.