tavie.com

Ach, 'tis a colourful city I live in, lads and lassies.

I wasted four hours of my life today taking a writing proficiency exam. It's a graduation requirement. I guess there was some sort of St. Patrick's Day parade today because the Armory, which is right next to my school, was hosting some sort of police-fest. There was a multitude of uniformed police officers and green-clad police fans, most with cans of beer and cigars in hand, milling about, taking up half of Lexington avenue. They seemed to be coppers from all over the country, 'cause I saw one of them point across the street at another group of policemen and shout, "Hey, it's the L.A. cops-- FAGGOTS!"

Eh?

And the exam was just as insulting as I'd feared. It turns out I was supposed to have registered for the exam ahead of time and collected the "study materials" to read and familiarize myself with beforehand. (The "study materials" consisted of an article on America's problems with conflict management and how differing cultures deal with conflict, or some such nonsense.) I was sent to see a girl who told me that since I hadn't registered beforehand, I could reschedule for tomorrow.

And waste another whole afternoon? Nuh-uh.

"Is there any way I can just take it now and get it over with?"

She stared at me like I was from Mars and then proceeded to explain to me, slowly, about how it was a graduation requirement that all CUNY students have to take, and it was a writing proficiency exam. And I said very slowly, "O-kay, can I please take it today?" Then she made me sign a form saying that I had declined to reschedule for a later date and was taking the exam without preparation.

Then I had to go back and take the damn thing. It was a two-part essay test, in which I had to draw connections between the lengthy "study materials" article and a shorter article in the exam booklet. So I dashed that sucker off, and then I had to sit there for two hours as the rest of the people in the room finished their exam. No, I could not go on to part two until the two hours were up. Nor could I read my book or play my Gameboy. (The proctors regarded my nodding, fidgeting form with some sympathy, I gather, as one of them tiptoed up to me and said I could go use the restroom if I wanted. I think I left a puff of dust.)

Thankfully, after I finished the second part of the exam I could leave, and that one only took fifteen minutes. What an excruciatingly dull and pointless excercise. If this is their idea of raising University standards, I honestly would hate to find out what the standards were like before.

On the subway train on the way home I saw someone who was either a performance artist or a crazy man. He was clean and neatly dressed, except for some horrifying purple sneakers, and didn't present the appearance of one of the mentally ill unfortunates that our city likes to dump out on the street. His entire demeanor, in fact, was entirely normal, until he began pacing in front of the subway doors and hissing at his companion, who happened to be invisible. It was really quite fascinating-- I couldn't understand why no one would look at him, as I really couldn't stop staring. It was quite a show. He would scowl at his reflection in the window and hiss, "Stop apologizing! Stop apologizing! I don't-- I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR APOLOGY. I do not accept your apology. Stop talking. STOP TALKING MEANS STOP TALKING NOW. Sarah, no-- I do not-- what part do you not understand? Sarah! Sarah, STOP TALKING!" All of this in a phlegmy voice, almost devoid of any actual intonation, reminiscent of the work of the late Clarence "Ducky" Nash. He was Donald Duck with a sore throat and purple sneakers, this man.

I mean, he was terribly fascinating to me. I wanted to start applauding. I thought he must have a hidden camera or something on his person-- he could have been Matt Besser, if he wasn't so middle-aged and blond and balding. For his grande finale, right before he got off the train at 57th street, he uttered with sibilant loathing, "I do not understand your willful ignorance of the English language!"

As he stepped off the train I literally burst out laughing and had to clap my hand over my mouth.

I do not understand why my fellow passengers did not share my amusement. It was an authentically hilarious slice of city life.

Why are you in Tavie's head? 2:47 AM | shower me with attention