Our college gives us the freedom to choose our own courses. The method though is
maddening.
Our dean (?) sent us a mail one fine morning, when we were all in college. The 17th I think. We were supposed to give 5 of our preferences that night between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. the next morning. No one really knew what we were supposed to do. Later we were informed of the entire process and how to go about it.
We went back home, the various Tuesday’s courses’ names swirling in our minds. They were all so interesting. It was a shame we’d get to do only one of them.
We had been told to send an email back to the dean, mentioning our courses of choice. We were supposed to send it only after we got an email from him saying ‘Start sign-up now’. Selection to a course was on a first-cum-first basis.
That night everyone was glued to their laptops and phones from the time they’d reached home. Calling up parents for advice, figuring out what they really wanted to do. It was chaos at its best.
As the time neared 7:30, anxiety and impatience crept in. People were fidgeting in their beds.
Jobless as I was, waiting for the clock to strike 8, I updated my status on Facebook at least three times in those 3 hours. I was staring at the time on the laptop.
Suddenly, someone in the other room screamed. I checked my mail and sure enough there was a mail.
It was from the dean.
It did not say ‘Start sign-up now’.
False alarm. A sadistic joke.
I checked the time. 7:53.
I had to wait some more.
Someone screamed again, a few minutes later. The mail was here.
The torture was over.
The next morning, my roomie told me to check what I’d been selected for.
My first choice, luckily.
But there was another mail….Monday’s course selection.
I could hear the collective groan of all the first years in my head.
It was the same process. So we all sat again at our laptops, a little more relaxed. We were still on our phones, asking for advice. Time was slower than before. I spent my time on Facebook, changing statuses and cover photos.
My flatmate, around 7:54, called out to tell us to scream when the mail came.
I did.
The frenzy it caused was hilarious.
It wasn’t even 7:55 yet.
And I was the only one laughing.
Thankfully, we didn’t get any sadistic mail, unlike what I’d expected.
The torture was finally over.
Or so we thought.
Today we found out we’d have to do the same thing over the weekend, for projects.
Looks like I’ll be spending 3 more hours on Facebook.
Waiting.
Our dean (?) sent us a mail one fine morning, when we were all in college. The 17th I think. We were supposed to give 5 of our preferences that night between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. the next morning. No one really knew what we were supposed to do. Later we were informed of the entire process and how to go about it.
We went back home, the various Tuesday’s courses’ names swirling in our minds. They were all so interesting. It was a shame we’d get to do only one of them.
We had been told to send an email back to the dean, mentioning our courses of choice. We were supposed to send it only after we got an email from him saying ‘Start sign-up now’. Selection to a course was on a first-cum-first basis.
That night everyone was glued to their laptops and phones from the time they’d reached home. Calling up parents for advice, figuring out what they really wanted to do. It was chaos at its best.
As the time neared 7:30, anxiety and impatience crept in. People were fidgeting in their beds.
Jobless as I was, waiting for the clock to strike 8, I updated my status on Facebook at least three times in those 3 hours. I was staring at the time on the laptop.
Suddenly, someone in the other room screamed. I checked my mail and sure enough there was a mail.
It was from the dean.
It did not say ‘Start sign-up now’.
False alarm. A sadistic joke.
I checked the time. 7:53.
I had to wait some more.
Someone screamed again, a few minutes later. The mail was here.
The torture was over.
The next morning, my roomie told me to check what I’d been selected for.
My first choice, luckily.
But there was another mail….Monday’s course selection.
I could hear the collective groan of all the first years in my head.
It was the same process. So we all sat again at our laptops, a little more relaxed. We were still on our phones, asking for advice. Time was slower than before. I spent my time on Facebook, changing statuses and cover photos.
My flatmate, around 7:54, called out to tell us to scream when the mail came.
I did.
The frenzy it caused was hilarious.
It wasn’t even 7:55 yet.
And I was the only one laughing.
Thankfully, we didn’t get any sadistic mail, unlike what I’d expected.
The torture was finally over.
Or so we thought.
Today we found out we’d have to do the same thing over the weekend, for projects.
Looks like I’ll be spending 3 more hours on Facebook.
Waiting.
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