Fade in: it’s freshman year finals season.
Your roommate inexplicably likes to play country music at all hours and your best friend has been sleeping in your twin XL with you for the past three months. You, an undecided/apathetic maybe English major, have a final tomorrow.
You wake up and leisurely check your phone, only to realize it is 10:30 AM, you have slept through three alarms, and your final exam is halfway over. Obviously, the only thing to do is to run crying to NoCo and beg your professor to let you take the exam in half the time. On your way, you run into your best friend’s new boyfriend whom you deeply hate, and who is cheerily on his way from said exam. He seems even more terrified of you than usual, probably because you are manically crying and asking why he is already finished. Anyway, no time for this conversation! You run to the exam.
The professor is inexplicably receptive to your story of vomiting from food poisoning all morning (in retrospect, he probably thinks you are pregnant and this exam grade probably won’t be relevant to your impending teen mother lifestyle).
You sit down, feeling triumphant. You have successfully talked your way into a final you basically slept through and are not going to fail freshman year. JUST KIDDING. You look at the exam and don’t recognize a single quote ID. Staring at the words on the page makes you more nauseated than you just pretended to be to your professor. In a fit of either pure genius or psychosis, you get up with no backup plan, tell your professor you thought you were feeling better but actually have to go vomit more, and leave the building.
Back in your dorm room, you study manically for three hours before emailing your professor that you feel better, but are also heading home tomorrow, so can you please take the exam sometime this afternoon? This is an incredibly psychotic demand that you sort of can’t believe you had the audacity to request, but freshman spring is the number one time to develop long term psychiatric disorders, so.
Thirty suspenseful minutes later, the professor emails you back with definitive proof that God exists: a PDF version of the final with instructions to email him your exam within 24 hours and, by the way, to feel better! Having successfully lied your way from half the time to finish an in-class final exam to a 24-hour take home, you are officially high off your own power.
Because you have lost any and all sense of responsibility, you decide to do the take home tomorrow morning before you leave campus for the summer, and go out tonight. Like any sane person would. After watching a dog pee on the floor of Cannon’s (yes, this actually happened and no, I don’t have any answers), you head to 1020. Because you were completely right about your best friend’s boyfriend, he is being a jerk in 1020. You proceed to get into an almost-physical barfight with a girl who claims he was flirting with her because this is what mature adults who have completed one year of college do in tense situations.
The barfight devolves into a Carman hallway fight, and you realize that it is 4:00 AM and you are definitely not waking up at 9:00 AM as planned to write this final. You sit down at your desk and drunkenly write an impassioned essay with basically no basis in any of the books. Feeling victorious, you go to sleep for the last time in your Carman bed.
Because of #gradeinflation, you somehow managae to get a B+. Bless up.
**Disclaimer: This is a personal piece and does not necessarily reflect the views of Her Campus Media.