To the assinine fuckwits who run my school...
Dear Evil Institution Who Insists on Sending Me Correspondence in a Language I Don't Understand,
Our time together has now come to a close. I officially just finished my last ever university exam, and I think I rocked it, thankyouverymuch.
I will start off by saying that I hate you, Institution, for being so corporate and completely unhelpful with everything I have tried to attain. I'll never forget all the memories I made while attending, all the screechy and incoherent phone calls I made home to my mother with a four kilogram bag of peanut M&Ms in hand.
Oh, the good old days. Remember the time I went to one of your student advisors unsure of what I wanted to do with my degree? And she looked at me blankly and told me to go to another school? And when I asked her what they could offer me, she continued looking at me blankly until her phone rang and I just left?
Remember the time you gave me a doctor who tried to kill me? Remember her, that nice little lady who said helpful things like "You should take more of this drug. I don't understand why it's not working, either. But here, take more." Remember her?
How about the best time of all, when during my second year, you sent me an email IN A LANGUAGE I DO NOT UNDERSTAND telling me that Whoops! Two years of my life have passed by and suddenly, for some reason, you are no longer going to give me a diploma that says Sociology on it! You're just going to give me a general something or other instead. SOMETIMES YOU MAKE ME LAUGH SO HARD THAT I WANT TO IMPALE MYSELF ON LIGHTING RODS. DURING A THUNDER STORM.
Don't get me wrong, Evil Institution. I had some really great times while I was there. I met some wonderful people, and had some amazing adventures. In a couple of my classes, I managed to learn some things, and people always thought it was a mixture of insane and interesting when I brought up social issues in relation to farming and rednecks. Oh, and hunting. People always inch away quietly when they're sitting beside a girl in a plaid jacket who announces to an auditorium full of Sociology students that she knows how to work a gun. I have to say that I got quite a few cheap thrills out of that.
I'll always remember the first ice rain I ever made it through in the city, and an attractive young man was walking down the street at the same time I was and when I went to make eye contact, I fell flat on my ass in a puddle. Come on, now. People on their asses in puddles are always funny.
There was also the time when it was my FIRST day of school ever, and the information on my schedule was wrong. I was so cool back then, so stylish and attractive. I had carefully applied the perfect amount of makeup, was carrying the perfect black leather purse and a shoulder bag instead of a lame old backpack. But it was pouring rain and I didn't own an umbrella, so by the time I got to the class that turned out to be the wrong class, I walked into some ind of lecture on the super hotness of guys who take things like Aeronautical Metaphysics of Hard Stuff To Pronouce. And when I walked in, I resembled a drowning raccoon because of the rain-smeared makeup, and my super stylin' leather purse was full of water because it had no zipper. And I was soggy, and my name-brand jeans weighed a ton and I was kind of sweaty and I was staring at all these super hot guys and I knew... I just knew that at that moment, I officially killed any chance I had at marrying any of them. Sigh.
So, You Non-English Corresponding Sweaty Donkey Ball Sucking Make Me Want To Stab Myself In The Face With A Paring Knife Institution.... Let's have a big hug, shall we? I'm done with you. You're done with me. I shall walk across one of your stages this June, I shall shake the hand of someone I'm sure I've never met before now, and we will part ways.
It's been a slice.
Toonses
P.S Since this is probably my last post about you, sorry about all the names I call you on my blog all the time. And sorry to that lady who took my screechy phone call when you told me I couldn't have my degree. And sorry also for bursting into tears in front of that one lady in the Sociology office who refused to speak English to me. And sorry again for the names. Really. I was raised better. You just make it so damn easy. And sorry for tacking on another insult inside an apology for the insults. Really.
Our time together has now come to a close. I officially just finished my last ever university exam, and I think I rocked it, thankyouverymuch.
I will start off by saying that I hate you, Institution, for being so corporate and completely unhelpful with everything I have tried to attain. I'll never forget all the memories I made while attending, all the screechy and incoherent phone calls I made home to my mother with a four kilogram bag of peanut M&Ms in hand.
Oh, the good old days. Remember the time I went to one of your student advisors unsure of what I wanted to do with my degree? And she looked at me blankly and told me to go to another school? And when I asked her what they could offer me, she continued looking at me blankly until her phone rang and I just left?
Remember the time you gave me a doctor who tried to kill me? Remember her, that nice little lady who said helpful things like "You should take more of this drug. I don't understand why it's not working, either. But here, take more." Remember her?
How about the best time of all, when during my second year, you sent me an email IN A LANGUAGE I DO NOT UNDERSTAND telling me that Whoops! Two years of my life have passed by and suddenly, for some reason, you are no longer going to give me a diploma that says Sociology on it! You're just going to give me a general something or other instead. SOMETIMES YOU MAKE ME LAUGH SO HARD THAT I WANT TO IMPALE MYSELF ON LIGHTING RODS. DURING A THUNDER STORM.
Don't get me wrong, Evil Institution. I had some really great times while I was there. I met some wonderful people, and had some amazing adventures. In a couple of my classes, I managed to learn some things, and people always thought it was a mixture of insane and interesting when I brought up social issues in relation to farming and rednecks. Oh, and hunting. People always inch away quietly when they're sitting beside a girl in a plaid jacket who announces to an auditorium full of Sociology students that she knows how to work a gun. I have to say that I got quite a few cheap thrills out of that.
I'll always remember the first ice rain I ever made it through in the city, and an attractive young man was walking down the street at the same time I was and when I went to make eye contact, I fell flat on my ass in a puddle. Come on, now. People on their asses in puddles are always funny.
There was also the time when it was my FIRST day of school ever, and the information on my schedule was wrong. I was so cool back then, so stylish and attractive. I had carefully applied the perfect amount of makeup, was carrying the perfect black leather purse and a shoulder bag instead of a lame old backpack. But it was pouring rain and I didn't own an umbrella, so by the time I got to the class that turned out to be the wrong class, I walked into some ind of lecture on the super hotness of guys who take things like Aeronautical Metaphysics of Hard Stuff To Pronouce. And when I walked in, I resembled a drowning raccoon because of the rain-smeared makeup, and my super stylin' leather purse was full of water because it had no zipper. And I was soggy, and my name-brand jeans weighed a ton and I was kind of sweaty and I was staring at all these super hot guys and I knew... I just knew that at that moment, I officially killed any chance I had at marrying any of them. Sigh.
So, You Non-English Corresponding Sweaty Donkey Ball Sucking Make Me Want To Stab Myself In The Face With A Paring Knife Institution.... Let's have a big hug, shall we? I'm done with you. You're done with me. I shall walk across one of your stages this June, I shall shake the hand of someone I'm sure I've never met before now, and we will part ways.
It's been a slice.
Toonses
P.S Since this is probably my last post about you, sorry about all the names I call you on my blog all the time. And sorry to that lady who took my screechy phone call when you told me I couldn't have my degree. And sorry also for bursting into tears in front of that one lady in the Sociology office who refused to speak English to me. And sorry again for the names. Really. I was raised better. You just make it so damn easy. And sorry for tacking on another insult inside an apology for the insults. Really.
Labels: An Open Letter, Graduation, School
posted by Amanda at 11:20
3 Comments:
Feel better?
what was the language? french?
French, of course.
And yes. I do feel better.
:D
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