As the holiday season approaches, college students all across America begin a long-vaunted tradition of nervous breakdowns and sleep deprivation, desperately preparing themselves for a brutal crucible, oft referred to as "final exams." The following is intended as a solemn guide to the bewildering, panicked emotions the poor souls forced to endure these grueling tribulations frequently endure:
Finals are nothing. You’ve done this before. Hell, millions of people have done this before. But you'll do it after that one frat party. Thankfully, you’re an in-control type; you’ll have a beer, make a few rounds, then head back home, and put in a few study hours before bed. Okay—maybe you’ll actually drink a half-gallon of jungle juice, cry passionately on a stranger’s shoulder about your goldfish that died two years ago, and end up falling asleep on your roommate’s beer-stained couch after vomiting in your neighbor's dumpster. You’ll then proceed to have a massive hangover, which destroys hope of any activity besides Netflix and shame the following morning. But thankfully, finals aren’t for another three days. You totally have this down. You’ll be productive when crunch time comes.
Why is your professor doing this to you? Jesse from "Breaking Bad" didn’t need any of this, and he turned out damn fine—well, minus the whole killing people thingy and meth addiction, but that’s beside the point! You’re a pretty good student! There’s no reason for you to take this. You know this material! Well, except for all the stuff you missed when you were too hungover. But this is college! Professors should know that students have social lives! So what, you missed a few classes. This is still a complete waste of your time. You’re paying to be here, for chrissakes! You shouldn’t pay to get bossed around, much less evaluated!
Dignity is highly overrated. This is what you will continually tell yourself as you lay prostrate before your professors, eyes full of (fake) tears, groveling and begging for extensions and study guides. At this point you’d do anything to secure a grade, maybe even that creepy T.A. who smells like beef jerky. They’re looking better by the minute as you become increasingly desperate.
It’s over. You’re going to fail all your exams. You might as well drop out of school now and begin a life of flipping burgers. On the plus side, you’ll be able to watch all the Netflix you want—wait, can homeless people have Netflix? Probably not… This would be a good time to die. Screw the starving kids in Africa, you should have your own personal charity. You’re gonna need it after you fail out of school and become a hobo. Which is definitely going to happen.
You got a “B” average? Huh. That’s not so bad. Good thing you didn’t stress out too much. Time to celebrate—there’s a party with three water coolers of jungle juice in a few hours.
