Final Exams Week: Day 6 of 9
My chemistry final was this morning. It started at 8:00am, so I had to be up at 6:00. Drew got up with me and made me eggs and sauteed spinach and coffee.
That test was hard. The practice exams he gave us were 16-17 pages long; the exam I took this morning was 23 pages. I raced through it and felt pretty good until the last third. I'm not so sure about some of that stuff. Our scores will be posted at 8:00pm tonight. I shouldn't even look at it until I'm done with biology. I don't really have time for test-score depression right now.
I've tried really hard this semester not to judge these undergrads. They're a good ten years younger than me, so I shouldn't go on and on about how immature they are. Obviously they're going to be immature... I should just ignore it. But sometimes it's hard. When my T.A. walked into the auditorium this morning before the exam all these silly little teenage girls started yelling "Vadim! Vadim we miss you! We love you, Vadim!" Come on, girls. Honestly. These were the same girls who, seconds earlier, were bragging about how they haven't slept in days and haven't studied for chemistry ("But isn't Vadim just THE CUTESTED?!"). It would be more tolerable if their grades were directly proportional to their maturity level. Unfortunately, a lot of them manage to do really well.
Earlier this week I was at the student union with my friend Sarah (who's in the postbacc program with me) when a pimply-faced freshman came up to her and said, "I was talking to my friend the other day and she was like, 'Postbaccs are old. They're like eighty!'" and then pimply-face giggled at how hilarious his friend is and looked to Sarah for a reaction. She just stared at him blankly.
Sarah: "There's nothing wrong with being older. We're more mature than a lot of you guys."
Pimply-Face: "I don't think so, really. I don't think a few years makes much difference."
Sarah: "Anyway, I'm not really that old."
Pimply-Face: "How old are you?"
Sarah: "Twenty-three."
Pimply-Face: "That's really not that old. Some seniors are twenty-three."
You should have heard the way he said it. It was like he was trying to convince someone that their coldsore really wasn't that noticeable. Like "don't feel bad! It's okay! Twenty-three isn't so terrible!"
It's hard not to be judgmental of someone who says crap like that.
That test was hard. The practice exams he gave us were 16-17 pages long; the exam I took this morning was 23 pages. I raced through it and felt pretty good until the last third. I'm not so sure about some of that stuff. Our scores will be posted at 8:00pm tonight. I shouldn't even look at it until I'm done with biology. I don't really have time for test-score depression right now.
I've tried really hard this semester not to judge these undergrads. They're a good ten years younger than me, so I shouldn't go on and on about how immature they are. Obviously they're going to be immature... I should just ignore it. But sometimes it's hard. When my T.A. walked into the auditorium this morning before the exam all these silly little teenage girls started yelling "Vadim! Vadim we miss you! We love you, Vadim!" Come on, girls. Honestly. These were the same girls who, seconds earlier, were bragging about how they haven't slept in days and haven't studied for chemistry ("But isn't Vadim just THE CUTESTED?!"). It would be more tolerable if their grades were directly proportional to their maturity level. Unfortunately, a lot of them manage to do really well.
Earlier this week I was at the student union with my friend Sarah (who's in the postbacc program with me) when a pimply-faced freshman came up to her and said, "I was talking to my friend the other day and she was like, 'Postbaccs are old. They're like eighty!'" and then pimply-face giggled at how hilarious his friend is and looked to Sarah for a reaction. She just stared at him blankly.
Sarah: "There's nothing wrong with being older. We're more mature than a lot of you guys."
Pimply-Face: "I don't think so, really. I don't think a few years makes much difference."
Sarah: "Anyway, I'm not really that old."
Pimply-Face: "How old are you?"
Sarah: "Twenty-three."
Pimply-Face: "That's really not that old. Some seniors are twenty-three."
You should have heard the way he said it. It was like he was trying to convince someone that their coldsore really wasn't that noticeable. Like "don't feel bad! It's okay! Twenty-three isn't so terrible!"
It's hard not to be judgmental of someone who says crap like that.
Labels: Drew, Postbacc Program, Sarah
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