Thursday, January 29, 2004
I had to have my timetable changed recently. Since it was three months after the course change deadline, I had to bring a letter from home. Like any other letter (ie note for absence), this involves me typing it out and my mother signing it. I am always the one writing letters. This is in no way deceitful of course, for she knows what I am typing, and reads it before signing.
So this 'letter from home' was no different than the other 'letters from home'. It was: a letter, stating my reasons for the timetable change, along with tidbits of useless information such as my spare time activities (Waterloo application all over again) and how much spare time I will have after the change, and how I plan to use that spare time (finding a cure for cancer, promoting world peace, basket-weaving, etc).
I printed them out the night before my appointment with the counsellor, and laid it out nicely on the table for my mother to sign the next morning. Because I have approximately thirty minutes in the morning to shower, dress, eat a big and filling breakfast consisting of cereal, milk, soy drink, eggs, rice, the dish that goes with the rice, and fruit, then brush and floss, it came as no surprise that I forgot to give the letter to my mother to sign.
It wasn't until I'd handed the counsellor her copy of the letter that I noticed the big gaping hole where the signature is supposed to be. Unfortunately, the letter was already in her hands. I looked at her as she looked over my sad, signature-less plea for a timetable change and felt like peeing in my pants. The big gap at the bottom was so obvious, and I was so scared. I thought about pointing to something random on the wall and uttering something completely inappropriete and spontaneous, and while my counsellor stands there in a shock I would snatch the paper from her loose hands and scribble a signature. I ditched that idea, for obvious reasons. I wanted to say that I only have one copy so I need to take the letter back to give to the administration, but I was stupidly holding the other un-signed letter in my hand.
To my great dismay, she read through the letter slowly and carefully, while I sweated and entered the primary stages of a heart attack. I left a big space for the signature and that space was jumping out at me screaming emptiness. In a last minute attempt to save myself, I started talking about how wonderful her office looks and smells. After finishing the letter, she said she will forward a note to the administration giving her permission for my timetable change. In the meantime, she said, let me put your letter in my folder.
Maybe she noticed that it was unsigned. If she did, then why did she ignore it? Or maybe she didn't see it. I guess I'll never know.
So this 'letter from home' was no different than the other 'letters from home'. It was: a letter, stating my reasons for the timetable change, along with tidbits of useless information such as my spare time activities (Waterloo application all over again) and how much spare time I will have after the change, and how I plan to use that spare time (finding a cure for cancer, promoting world peace, basket-weaving, etc).
I printed them out the night before my appointment with the counsellor, and laid it out nicely on the table for my mother to sign the next morning. Because I have approximately thirty minutes in the morning to shower, dress, eat a big and filling breakfast consisting of cereal, milk, soy drink, eggs, rice, the dish that goes with the rice, and fruit, then brush and floss, it came as no surprise that I forgot to give the letter to my mother to sign.
It wasn't until I'd handed the counsellor her copy of the letter that I noticed the big gaping hole where the signature is supposed to be. Unfortunately, the letter was already in her hands. I looked at her as she looked over my sad, signature-less plea for a timetable change and felt like peeing in my pants. The big gap at the bottom was so obvious, and I was so scared. I thought about pointing to something random on the wall and uttering something completely inappropriete and spontaneous, and while my counsellor stands there in a shock I would snatch the paper from her loose hands and scribble a signature. I ditched that idea, for obvious reasons. I wanted to say that I only have one copy so I need to take the letter back to give to the administration, but I was stupidly holding the other un-signed letter in my hand.
To my great dismay, she read through the letter slowly and carefully, while I sweated and entered the primary stages of a heart attack. I left a big space for the signature and that space was jumping out at me screaming emptiness. In a last minute attempt to save myself, I started talking about how wonderful her office looks and smells. After finishing the letter, she said she will forward a note to the administration giving her permission for my timetable change. In the meantime, she said, let me put your letter in my folder.
Maybe she noticed that it was unsigned. If she did, then why did she ignore it? Or maybe she didn't see it. I guess I'll never know.
