The Bright Eyes
Aren't Bright and the Bushy Tail Got Caught in a
Weed Whacker
by Trent Dietz
It was here.
It had arrived. The moment we had all been
dreading since the last time we had endured it:
exam week. Exam week is an odd time in pretty
much any context. Whether you’re in high
school, college, or grad school, it is usually a
time of awkward breaks between moments of stress
so overwhelming that the professors are required
to carry defibrillators in their briefcases (“If
you have any questions, come up to the front and
ask me; and if you feel yourself experiencing
massive heart failure, just quietly raise your
hand”). And as you progress through the
various levels of education, it only gets worse.
Personally,
I’m in law school, a venue whose exam
traditions trace directly back to the Spanish
Inquisition. My first exam was on a Saturday at 8:00
am, which would have been delightful had it not
been for the “exam,” “Saturday,”
and “8:00 am” parts. The week then
progressed through leisurely days of trying to
memorize several months’ worth of material
interspersed with tests designed to melt the
brains of the unworthy. The entire week
represented approximately the same amount of work
per student as the Manhattan Project.
Thankfully,
after every test, the law school provided lunch.
The exam survivors could limp down to the
cafeteria and enjoy free food that exemplified
the phrase “You get what you pay for.”
Yet, even though the food wasn’t exactly up
to par (by which I mean “a triple-bogey”),
the meals were also some of the best I have ever
eaten. You see, each meal represented the end of
another class. They usually involved discussing
the success or failure of the test in a
nonchalant manner that belied the great weight
every law student places on exams. We would joke
around about how badly we thought we had failed,
reveling in the simple fact that there was
nothing we could do about it now. Whether we
lived or died was out of our hands.
After lunch,
we would head our separate ways and study for the
next exam. A couple days later, we would show up,
endure three to three and a half hours of brain-busting,
and laugh about it over lunch again. Finally, on
Friday, the ordeal was over. This time when we
went home, there would be no exam demanding our
attention. There would only be peace, quiet, and
homework for next Monday because our law school
was on the quarter system and the only break we
got between quarters was a nifty two-day vacation
called a “weekend.” Hip-hip-hoo(are you
kidding me with this?!)ray.
But such is
life. We deal with it, we work hard, we move on.
We laugh at ourselves and remember that
we’re not the only ones who go through this
kind of stuff. And when the schedule says
“Exam on Saturday at 8:00 am” we show
up. Why? Simple: free food.
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