Embarrassed about not knowing American history.

Embarrassed about not knowing world history.

Embarrassed about not knowing seemingly anything.

Distraught, thinking how disappointed that elementary-school teacher who believed in you would be.

Wondering if your elementary-school teacher is still alive, and contemplating your own mortality.

Wondering what a Hawaiian party is called, and if being at one would be more fun than doing the crossword.

Accessing your encyclopedic knowledge of the Bible and all its characters, especially the ones with vowel-heavy names.

Wondering if being in the Bible would be more fun than doing the crossword.

Fury upon discovering that the theme is based on a pun.

Silently mouthing the first half of the Greek alphabet.

Struggling to silently mouth the second half of the Greek alphabet.

Wondering how much sex appeal knowing about three quarters of the Greek alphabet gives you.

Fury at your inability to type the letters into the correct squares on the app, significantly impacting your solving time.

Remembering that your record is eight minutes for a Monday.

Wracked with guilt after Googling an answer.

Wracked with guilt after using the help feature on the app.

Wracked with guilt after a clue indicates that someone at the New York Times may know your deepest darkest secret.

Fury upon discovering that someone has already completed the crossword in your Saturday paper.

Confusion at how this happened, as you live alone.

Frantic worry, as your mind races through all the people who might have it out for you, are good at crosswords, and have a lax attitude toward breaking and entering.

Ashen, after hearing a creak in the other room.

Terror, as a figure emerges from the shadows holding over his head a long, thin object.

Relief that it’s just Will Shortz, crossword editor of the New York Times, come to personally deliver you your Sunday crossword in a rolled-up New York Times Magazine.

Terror, as you realize that you will have to do the crossword in front of him.