The 7 Stages of Saturday Classes
Shock. It all begins on a perfect Friday night. The cool fall air practically begs you to stay out until 10. The line at the pizza shack is short. Seniors are really starting to stress about college apps so they’re staying out of your way. But just when it seems like nothing can go wrong, you check OLS on a whim and realize that your life is a lie. Check in isn’t ten. You have class tomorrow.
Denial. Back in your dorm, you head to the common room, refusing to acknowledge the alarm you set for tomorrow. Study hours? No way, not on a friday. You seek out the kid with the party room and find them in their room alone, LED lights off, couch empty, beanbags unoccupied, other various RGB apparatus switched to normal light, doing homework. They can’t be doing work on a Friday, can they? Can they? It just can’t be. There can’t be classes on a saturday
Anger. Back in your own room, you do your homework for tomorrow with the temperament of an uncaffeinated Senior. You never realized you held a grudge against derivatives until now. Maybe you spend an hour complaining with your roommate about how little sleep you’re about to get, and then complain for another hour so your complaints are valid.
Bargaining. Come to think of it, you haven’t gotten any dickies yet… maybe just one or two or three dickies wouldn’t hurt. It’s Saturday, after all. And stricts aren’t even that bad when you really think about it. Or maybe you’ll be sick tomorrow. Yeah, really sick. Super sick. You’ll tell everyone how sick you are and… oh wait. That’s probably not such a good idea this year.
Grief. Deep into the AM hours, you lay in bed, dreading the relentless ring of your alarm that will invade your dreams far too soon, pulling your mind into consciousness like shoes from wet cement. Eventually your exhaustion gets the better of you, and you sink into happy dreams of short Dhall lines and EP on tuesdays.
Testing. By a stroke of luck, your alarm goes off during light sleep, although it takes 10 minutes for you to remember who you are and what your name is and why your in a dorm room that looks like every dorm room every except the posters are a little different, you manage to stumble to class on time. Your teacher, ever the wise one, gives you ten minutes to complain about Saturday classes in what is the most earnest and insightful harkness discussion you will ever have. You feel a lot better afterwards.
Acceptance. You realize it’s basically just Wednesday but like a little worse. I guess that’s not too bad.
