Shamefully Stashing Away My American Vindictiveness

A toast, to Trevor.

We celebrated its last night with a few Strongbow Ciders on the patio of my college bar, far enough away from the asbestos ridden structure.  The entirety of Furness has packed up and moved, including my pigeon hole (in British that means mailbox, it's quite ridiculous, really) and all the offices.  It's a good thing I figured out where my mail is going considering I should be expecting Mom's package of my winter wardrobe (thanks Mom).

Today, I was ready for class.  I haven't been in class for four months and I think my brain might have rotted a bit, but oh, was I ready.  At my first class, everyone seemed pleasant enough and it so happened that I was the only American in there.  After reading "A Clean Well-Lighted Place" by Hemingway, the professor opened the room for discussion.  Let's just say, it wasn't what I was used to.

"I completely disagree with you and your half-formed ideas, you nincompoop!"

Instead of a heated debate among students, with their pulsing veins and bright red faces that I've grown accustomed to back home at the COW or even in my AP classes in high school, I experienced this:

"What a sound idea!  I hadn't thought the green light in The Great Gatsby could be a symbol!  You're ever so smart"

It was a polite discussion in which the professor agreed with every student who volunteered, even if the ideas were completely ludicrous or irrelevant to the text.  The lecture, however, was informative and engaging.  I think I'm going to enjoy being talked at rather than interacting with my British peers.

Late last week I noticed that the registry entered one of my seminars incorrectly.  At the COW, this would mean apocalypse.  This would mean the end of all Semesters.  This would mean e-mailing countless professors and the registrar, sweating for a spot in the class you wanted, beating other students out of the way in the most brutal and neanderthalic fashion.  This would mean: you're screwed.

I marched into the English and Creative Writing department, fists clench, speech prepared, determination set.  I was going to have zero classes on Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday.  No way were they going to "mistakenly" stick me for that early seminar on Friday, I am an American!  But first, who the hell was I going to talk to?

British Tutor Roaming the Hallway: "Can I help you find a room?"
Me: "What?  Oh, yeah..." looking at him suspiciously "I need to talk to someone about changing a seminar class..."
British Tutor: "Oh, yes, yes, right this way.  It's that door on your left."
Me: "Um...Thanks."

I pounded on the door, this was it, my retribution.  The woman inside motioned me in, she was grinning and listening to upbeat British music.  She smiled at me sweetly and asked what she could do to help.  Perplexed, I told her the issue.

"Well, that's certainly not right!  Funny how these things can mess up!" She sang merrily.
She typed away on the computer and seconds later looked up.  "Alrighty then, all set.  I'll email the tutor and let him know you'll be in the group."
"That's it?"
"That's it!"
And then I left.  I was pretty convinced that I wouldn't get away with this, I even considered not bothering with it and leaving the class for the Friday.  Now, I'm not quite sure what to do on my five day weekend, aside from studying.  I guess that means a trip back to London!

If anyone has other suggestions of a not-so-terrifying trip I could manage on my own, drop me a line!

Cheers!