Yesterday in the mail I received the quarterly Alumni magazine from my alma mater. I went to a small college, so I enjoy reading it because I usually recognize at least one or two people every time. So... I'm flipping through this bad boy waiting for my clothes to dry at my parents' laundromat, when lo and behold, I spot the man who, besides my friend Candace, was the only witness to my most embarrassing college moment.
To truly appreciate the predicament I got myself into, I'll have to give some back story. It was the last semester of my college career. I put off "Chemistry in Society" for three and a half years for one reason: my brain does not understand science. Like if you start talking molecules or chemical reactions, I'm staring into space picturing kittens riding unicorns bareback through a magical meadow while ice cream truck music plays eerily in the background. Cut to reality, and you'll see me slightly drooling with a stupid grin on my face. I'm not really a left-brained type of person, clearly.
Our Professor was Val Christensen. He was retired but had come back just to teach this class, or to make my life miserable, but I digress. He was a serious man. Super serious, never cracking a smile, never making a joke. He loved Chemistry. Isn't that enough of an explanation?
I took this class with one of my favorite friends, and roommates Candace. She was the only reason I ever showed up to class. After a semester of barely passable grades in this class, it had come down to one week before graduation and finals week. I had to pass the final to pass the class. We're talking D minus guys... I know what you're thinking, I really aim high. Perhaps to make matters worse, I had really smart friends. Smart friends who also had good work ethics. You'd have thought that would have rubbed off or something, but no, I was a world class procrastinator who could not be swayed by positive peer pressure.
Okay, so back to this final. Candace helped me study. We made flash cards. She quizzed me. I learned approximately 61% of the material marginally well. I. was. ready.
I went in, took the final. I leave feeling like I'm going to pass out. My mom calls to tell me everyone (parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins), are headed to San Diego for my graduation this weekend. I feel sick. Do I tell her now that I might not actually be graduating? Or should I just head south to Mexico now? Is is plausible to just fake a graduation? Could I just borrow a cap and gown and meet up with them afterward? What? You didn't see me or hear my name called? All of you? Why weren't you paying attention?
I wait until the next day when I can visit good ol' Val during office hours to see what my grade is. I beg for Candace to come with me, I just can't do this alone. We wait in line outside his office door. Finally, he calls us in. For what seems like three years, Val adds up my grade. Not on a computer, but in a paper grade book. I told you this guy was old school. The anticipation is too much. I start to feel light headed. I'm going to puke, but I don't.
I passed. The clouds part and angels are singing. I am truly overwhelmed with joy. I'm laughing and crying and the next thing I know... I'm writhing around on the floor in front of Professor Christensen praising Jesus out loud.
I really don't know how long I carried on for, but when I finally realized what I was doing, I stopped and opened my eyes only to see a horrified old man and an even more horrified Candace staring down at me. At this point, my senses return and I have no idea how to gracefully get up off the ground and get the heck out of there. I quickly jump to my feet to tell him thanks, only to see he is smiling. Like laughing at my foolishness smiling, but smiling none the less.
We high tail it out of the building and burst into hysterical laughter at what just transpired.
You're welcome Candace, for being witness to me completely losing my marbles.
In case you're wondering... yes, it was my equivalent to this spectacle: