What my colleagues say on the first day: "Did you teach yet today? How did it go?"
What I think: "No, I didn't teach. I read the syllabus aloud to thirty adults who can legally vote. I did this because otherwise they wouldn't know the policies or assignments. They still won't. I fielded questions like 'I don't have the book. Is that okay?' and 'I'm going to be late every Friday. Is that okay?' I read a list of policies that was three pages long, each bullet point a scar in my soul from some miserable semester when a student did something I never thought any student would ever do ("Do not cut your nails in class. Do not bring animals to class without permission. Do not sleep. Do not text. Do not surf Facebook or any other nonacademic site [read, porn]. Do not ridicule other students. Do not ridicule me . . . " I tried to tell jokes and crush the endless boredom of the first day, but that didn't work. I let them go early, went to my office, and took off my shoes. Are they good students? How the hell should I know? One or two probably is, going by the laws of averages. But three or four are probably nightmares, which I can only hope to contain.
And yet, the bloom is on the rose. It's the first day. It's over, and tomorrow isn't here yet. I've got a lot of hope, and still a little bit of excitement. And enough cynicism to know it won't last long, so I might as well enjoy it while it's here. So, yeah, I guess it went fine.