6.17.2011

Oh What a Fiasco

{the much disliked BYU testing center}

You have got to hear about this. It's wretched.

We do mostly everything different here at BYU, however, one of our special quirks is the campus testing center. With few exceptions, tests are taken in the testing center (TC) over a designated set of days, rather than tacking tests in class. Enter the finals nightmare. Final exams in the TC have an added dread-the fear of waiting in a line so long that you forget everything you studied and by the time you get to the front of the line, it's likely that either a). they just handed out the last copy of the test you need, or b). there is no place to sit and take your test.


Terrors like this happen at the end of every semester. But yesterday finals took on a whole new level of disaster when it seemed every student here on campus for Spring (maybe 10,000 of us??) decided to wait until the last day, and the last 4 hours of testing center availability, to take their test. Usually, waiting is not my style. I'm a take the hardest one's first, take more than one final a day, and finish with time to spare so I can laze around while the line at the TC spans across our mile-wide campus. But in Spring semester there are only 2 days to take finals, and between work and a scheduled final on Wednesday, Thursday afternoon was my first opportunity.

{a common sight: lines...long ones}

The line was akin to the ever-winding line waiting to ride the Millenium Force rollercoaster at Cedar Point. It wound all around the main floor of the TC (probably 100 people sardined up there), down the stairs, around the hall and back down the hall and out the building. Waiting outside wasn't so bad, but the inside was close, stuffy, and the air was stale with sweat and fear. Really, it was a nightmare. Finally someone decided it was time to open up the satellite TC, so a lady came to the middle of the line and tried to keep everyone in order, but a mob ensued as everyone rushed out the door to get in the front of the new line.

15 minutes later, she sent us back to the testing center. 15 minutes after that, she said we needed to go back to the satellite TC. I said, no way lady. So I waited. And waited.

And soon I began to feel faint. Remember my fainting episode on the plane coming back from Christmas vacation? It seems I have developed a high sensitivity to stale air, and places of unfreshness are dangerous to me. I had been standing in line (well 3 different lines, technically) for over an hour when the beginnings of a fainting spell hit. I tried to chug water, I nibbled a granola bar, I crouched down and put my head between my legs -people likely thought I was insane-but to no avail. Slowly, surely, my body grew hot, I began to sweat, my vision blurred and my hearing became garbled. The apex of this occurred right as I got to the door to receive my test. I staggered to the desk and handed the proctor my student id, whispered what test I needed, and through blurred vision and clouded hearing I saw her tilt her head and say, "Oh, we just handed out the last test."

Then I lost it. The floor swelled and pitched and I faintly heard other proctors say, "Send her to the satellite!" and there was no way that was going to happen. I leaned on the desk and whispered, "I'll wait here for the test, but I have to sit down, I'm about to pass out." I must have looked a fright because the proctor grew concerned and directed me to sit down in the corner of the room. I felt like a homeless person sitting there but I was so ill, I tried not to care. Momentarily the proctor came back waving a test at me and asking if I could take it. I said I would, but asked her to hold it until I could stand.

I gathered my crumpled self and stood up when I thought that I could go directly to claim my test, but the proctor knew the student in line and was chatting away, so while I stood there blackness ensued, and my hearing went warbly again. Finally I collected my test, but then I had to obtain a bubble sheet (more waiting) I was practically incognizant when they called my name-but I said, "Rachel here" and stuck out my hand. They put the sheet there so I could take it-I couldn't see at this point.

Then I stumbled, literally stumbled like a drunken sailor into the test room, desperate for a seat. The place was packed. I walked into a desk. I accidentally whacked an unseen someone with my bag. I grew hopeless and knew that if I couldn't find somewhere to sit soon, I would be blacked out on the floor. Suddenly, I pulled my head up and my vision cleared slightly, and a desk with what seemed like a halo around it shone empty. (I swear, it was like manna from heaven, like this desk dropped out of nowhere right in front of me and it glowed, and little birds flew around it, but I was delirious....). I didn't sit, I dropped into the desk. And I don't remember the minutes that passed, until I finally felt well enough to sit up and eat the remainder of my granola bar, swig my last drop of water, and begin the test.

Needless to say, I did not do as well as I wanted to on that final, but somehow I made it out alive, with just barely and A-, and quite possibly, still earned an A in the class. I'm waiting for the verdict now, but really, I'm simply very glad to be done. And have my vision back. And my hearing. Oh and the ability to walk. Sheesh....what a fiasco.

6.09.2011

Chef Jeff

Around our house, I do most of the cooking, and when I say most, I mean all of the cooking. Jeffrey makes a wonderful sous chef-he helps me prep the food, touches meat that I don't want to, and watches things as they boil or stirs pots to make sure nothing burns. Oh and he's very good at chopping onions,especially since just the sight of an onion sends my sensitive peepers into a fit of waterworks. Other than that, I must say that he is an amazing grill master, so I suppose it was unfair of me to say that I do everything.

Jeffrey can also do this:

{mutilated, once burned grilled cheese}

Sunday afternoons and on the occasional weekday, Jeffrey makes for me a delightful grilled cheese sandwich. However, I suspect that Jeffrey has been taking grilled cheese classes from the school of my mother, because his sandwiches have turned into my mother's notorious "Never-know-what-you're-gonna-get Grilled Cheese". This sandwich was black on one side and brown on the other, and for reasons beyond reason, rather than making a new one, Jeffrey scraped off the charcoalized bits and slapped it on my plate (I Love Lucy, Season 4-The Matchmaker, anyone? That dance she does when she scrapes the blackened toast makes my sides ache!).

But who knows, next time I may get a perfectly crispy, golden grilled cheese. So I open my mouth and put that cheese right in, because I'm also glad that I didn't have to cook it myself and so glad that Jeffrey loves me enough to slap on an apron and cook every now and then.