Rain. You might know.I should have hired security guards. Maybe I should have called my insurance agent. At the very least, I could have invested in a plastic bag!
I was on my way to my final final and in my hand I held my ticket to success: a crib sheet. The guideline given by my professor was one 8.5 x 11 in. paper with as much information as I could fit in my own handwriting. I've been working on the sheet for days. I've kept it by my side for safekeeping, protecting it like an original copy of the Declaration of Independence. Now, mere yards from my goal, it was raining.
I angled the broken umbrella kept in the van for such emergencies and clutched the sheet close to my body. One drop of rain could wipe out paragraphs of my microscopic script.
I reached the classroom without mishap and set up my space: two sharpened pencils, a big eraser, a granola bar that I wouldn't eat because I hate making food noises in public but in Paddington-esque style felt bringing it was necessary, and my crib sheet. My professor had warned that at the end of the three hour exam, he would probably have to wrench the test from students' hands. I was ready for intense.
Ever feel like you're braced for a gripping drama just to be let down by an anticlimactic end? Well, join the club. The test was done in an hour and a half, and I barely needed my cheat sheet. I think it was my professor's ploy to get us to study more writing it all down.
I left O'Leary Center to find bright, beautiful skies. I am done.
