i forgot to post this....
With exams half-way over, I'm still going strong. I took two English ones already. Here's the rundown of English examinations at Maynooth:
You arrive about 15 minutes early. They recommend you get there half an hour early, but you know that doing so will only cause you to stand around in a group and panic with all the other kids who are standing around and panicking. It's much more productive to stay in your room, look over a couple more notes, drink some more water, use the toilet, and walk over in a leisurely fashion. Upon arrival, you spot your panicking-group of choice and join them. They are all panicking. You, having spent the past fifteen minutes preparing, are relaxed and feel prepared. (In honesty: You learned last semester that English exams are a load of bullshit. You, being particularly adept at thinking up bullshit on the spot, are thus prepared even though you haven't read all the works as closely as you should have.) Everyone is duly impressed by your laid-back attitude. You're impressed with yourself for pulling of such an attitude in front of such people.
In line with your laid-back-ness, you suavely mosey on over to the seating chart. It's not really a chart. It's a list of surnames printed out on A4 paper (i.e. standard-sized computer paper which is different from USA standard-size due to the metric [a royal with cheese] system) with a number beside each surname. You write your number on your hand, so as not to forget. (Last semester, you tried to be doubly-suave and remember it without writing it down. You tried to exit the examinations hall when you realised you'd forgotten, only to have an invigilator tell you you were no longer allowed to leave, and that he would find your number for you. It kind of blew your cool-ness cover, so you've resolved not to make the same mistake twice.) You mosey back to the group and uphold this laid-back-ness until someone makes an announcement that you may enter the examinations hall. You tell the people in your panicking-group good luck, and you (suavely) walk down the hallway to the hall. Having a surname starting with "O," you're sent to the "Small Sports Hall." You prefer this. The announcer's voice doesn't echo in the Small Sports Hall as much as it does in the Main Sports Hall. You find your seat, take your three pens and one pencil out of your pocket and place them on the desk, take your student i.d. card out of your wallet and place it on top of the examinations pack (a paper listing your name, student i.d. number, exams to sit, etc.) which you have also placed on your desk. You slouch back in your seat and generally look cool.
After some announcements, where they tell you you're not allowed to leave the hall for various reasons they choose not to divulge, you're permitted to begin. You write your stats on the front of your answer book; you open the exam; you read the questions provided. After much reviewing of the questions, you're certain the examiners are determined to give the tutors the most boring essays in existence to read and mark. You're not a tutor, so you don't mind. You set to work and pop out two essays in an hour and a half. You re-read said essays, making slight adjustments and corrections. You know they're nothing splendid, but you also know they're enough to let you pass. You've had some interesting discussions with friends that actually allowed you to critique the books, as opposed to the lectures where someone with (though sometimes without, and it's always a big deal if they're without) a PhD stands at a lectern and tells you all of their brilliant ideas. You're happy you went abroad, but you're happier still at the thought of returning to English classes where students listen and discuss rather than only listening. Having finished correcting the essays, you sit at your desk for the remaining fifteen minutes. Your stomach grumbles loudly and annoyingly. "Shhhh," you think at it. It ignores you. The boy next to you, also having finished, discreetly rolls a joint under his desk. You laugh inside of yourself.
An invigilator calls the end of the exam. You wait for yours to be collected, but you still aren't allowed to leave your seat. When they're sure no students have exams anymore, there's a mad rush for the door. You rejoin your friends and walk to Aldi (your stomach's protestations have grown louder) to buy food, discussing which questions you answered along the way.
*EDIT* It's now Friday: I finished my Latin exam. (whoot!) I don't think I aced it or anything, but I most certainly passed. (If I didn't pass, I'm nearly the dumbest kid on the planet.) Now I just have to remember to study the rest of the summer. ... We'll see how that goes.
Only two exams left. Life is... moving along.
You arrive about 15 minutes early. They recommend you get there half an hour early, but you know that doing so will only cause you to stand around in a group and panic with all the other kids who are standing around and panicking. It's much more productive to stay in your room, look over a couple more notes, drink some more water, use the toilet, and walk over in a leisurely fashion. Upon arrival, you spot your panicking-group of choice and join them. They are all panicking. You, having spent the past fifteen minutes preparing, are relaxed and feel prepared. (In honesty: You learned last semester that English exams are a load of bullshit. You, being particularly adept at thinking up bullshit on the spot, are thus prepared even though you haven't read all the works as closely as you should have.) Everyone is duly impressed by your laid-back attitude. You're impressed with yourself for pulling of such an attitude in front of such people.
In line with your laid-back-ness, you suavely mosey on over to the seating chart. It's not really a chart. It's a list of surnames printed out on A4 paper (i.e. standard-sized computer paper which is different from USA standard-size due to the metric [a royal with cheese] system) with a number beside each surname. You write your number on your hand, so as not to forget. (Last semester, you tried to be doubly-suave and remember it without writing it down. You tried to exit the examinations hall when you realised you'd forgotten, only to have an invigilator tell you you were no longer allowed to leave, and that he would find your number for you. It kind of blew your cool-ness cover, so you've resolved not to make the same mistake twice.) You mosey back to the group and uphold this laid-back-ness until someone makes an announcement that you may enter the examinations hall. You tell the people in your panicking-group good luck, and you (suavely) walk down the hallway to the hall. Having a surname starting with "O," you're sent to the "Small Sports Hall." You prefer this. The announcer's voice doesn't echo in the Small Sports Hall as much as it does in the Main Sports Hall. You find your seat, take your three pens and one pencil out of your pocket and place them on the desk, take your student i.d. card out of your wallet and place it on top of the examinations pack (a paper listing your name, student i.d. number, exams to sit, etc.) which you have also placed on your desk. You slouch back in your seat and generally look cool.
After some announcements, where they tell you you're not allowed to leave the hall for various reasons they choose not to divulge, you're permitted to begin. You write your stats on the front of your answer book; you open the exam; you read the questions provided. After much reviewing of the questions, you're certain the examiners are determined to give the tutors the most boring essays in existence to read and mark. You're not a tutor, so you don't mind. You set to work and pop out two essays in an hour and a half. You re-read said essays, making slight adjustments and corrections. You know they're nothing splendid, but you also know they're enough to let you pass. You've had some interesting discussions with friends that actually allowed you to critique the books, as opposed to the lectures where someone with (though sometimes without, and it's always a big deal if they're without) a PhD stands at a lectern and tells you all of their brilliant ideas. You're happy you went abroad, but you're happier still at the thought of returning to English classes where students listen and discuss rather than only listening. Having finished correcting the essays, you sit at your desk for the remaining fifteen minutes. Your stomach grumbles loudly and annoyingly. "Shhhh," you think at it. It ignores you. The boy next to you, also having finished, discreetly rolls a joint under his desk. You laugh inside of yourself.
An invigilator calls the end of the exam. You wait for yours to be collected, but you still aren't allowed to leave your seat. When they're sure no students have exams anymore, there's a mad rush for the door. You rejoin your friends and walk to Aldi (your stomach's protestations have grown louder) to buy food, discussing which questions you answered along the way.
*EDIT* It's now Friday: I finished my Latin exam. (whoot!) I don't think I aced it or anything, but I most certainly passed. (If I didn't pass, I'm nearly the dumbest kid on the planet.) Now I just have to remember to study the rest of the summer. ... We'll see how that goes.
Only two exams left. Life is... moving along.