*Crystalline* The Inanimate Mocks Me.
"$0," said the receipt.
Nay.
"$0," taunted the receipt.
"Never mind that your Ethnic Literature class has just begun to present material in the fifth week of the second semester, therefore you were unable to assess whether you liked the class any time before," the receipt calmly uttered,"therefore, you are still profoundly screwed."
Yes, my friends, I have dropped a class. Once I had a dream--a dream where all English classes, professors, and the like would be proficient, competent, inspiring!
The dream has faded.
Like a pair of fucking brand new, expensive, dark-stain indigo jeans in the wash.
With this jeans--now a dingy, watery blue--analogy, I have realized that no longer can I linger, no LONGER can I hope that the class or teacher may improve...I will not stand for five months of concentrated crap. I have my drop slip and on it lays the proof of university ripoff. At the registrar counter, I received the distinct impression that the secretary had gladly sold her soul to the take-all-the-money-you-possibly-can-in-every-devisable-form-from-students strategy:
*
I placed my silver backpack in front of me.
"Hello, I'd like to drop a class. Can you tell me what sort of refund I would receive?"
"Absolutely nothing. It's the fifth week."
"N-nothing?"
I swear to Doke, there was a small smile on her face. "Nothing."
"Uh..."
"The slips are right next to you."
"Ye-ees..." While experiencing echoing "Nothing" flashbacks, I grasped a pen.
*Four long minutes later*
"You finished with the slip?"
Twitch, twitch. I handed her the paper.
*
So, as my parents are paying for my education, I left the building consumed with guilt. I had planned to drop the class in any case, but obviously had expected even the smallest of refunds. *sigh*
I offered to pay them back for the wasted class in full; I think they were impressed (hmm.) by this and told me I could pay back half or less than that, if I wished.
Curses.
Nay.
"$0," taunted the receipt.
"Never mind that your Ethnic Literature class has just begun to present material in the fifth week of the second semester, therefore you were unable to assess whether you liked the class any time before," the receipt calmly uttered,"therefore, you are still profoundly screwed."
Yes, my friends, I have dropped a class. Once I had a dream--a dream where all English classes, professors, and the like would be proficient, competent, inspiring!
The dream has faded.
Like a pair of fucking brand new, expensive, dark-stain indigo jeans in the wash.
With this jeans--now a dingy, watery blue--analogy, I have realized that no longer can I linger, no LONGER can I hope that the class or teacher may improve...I will not stand for five months of concentrated crap. I have my drop slip and on it lays the proof of university ripoff. At the registrar counter, I received the distinct impression that the secretary had gladly sold her soul to the take-all-the-money-you-possibly-can-in-every-devisable-form-from-students strategy:
*
I placed my silver backpack in front of me.
"Hello, I'd like to drop a class. Can you tell me what sort of refund I would receive?"
"Absolutely nothing. It's the fifth week."
"N-nothing?"
I swear to Doke, there was a small smile on her face. "Nothing."
"Uh..."
"The slips are right next to you."
"Ye-ees..." While experiencing echoing "Nothing" flashbacks, I grasped a pen.
*Four long minutes later*
"You finished with the slip?"
Twitch, twitch. I handed her the paper.
*
So, as my parents are paying for my education, I left the building consumed with guilt. I had planned to drop the class in any case, but obviously had expected even the smallest of refunds. *sigh*
I offered to pay them back for the wasted class in full; I think they were impressed (hmm.) by this and told me I could pay back half or less than that, if I wished.
Curses.