The
Catchy Title
awkwardly creative since sometime last
week
“If you have any questions, now is the time to ask.” She said, making a precursor sweep with her spectacled eyes. I didn’t have any questions. Well, I did, but it was more along the lines of: “OH LORD, WHAT HAVE I EVER DONE TO DESERVE THIS?!”
If you guessed that I was taking the SATs, you’re absolutely correct. The SATs (short for “Samurai Are Tasty” or, when given analogies: “Stop Asking These”.) are the pinnacle of your high school career. And don’t you forget that. Personally, I wish I had time to forget. Or to even hear what was being said. I was too busy holding my hands up to my ears yelling, “LA LA LA LA LA LA DON’T HAVE SATS LA LA LA”. Yes, I ignored the SATs (Superiorly Armed Tongue). Unlike some people I know (I don’t mean to name names cougherikgupp), who paid literally hundreds of dollars to learn one simple fact: You’d Better Pass Your SATs. Since I already knew this fact, I deemed myself more than able to pass the SATs (Students Are Targets).
Firm in the knowledge that I had no idea what was going on, I pulled up to the test center, The Way of Chang Tzu in hand. I had brought The Way of Chang Tzu hoping that it would guide me to a path of understanding. Or that maybe it would be the answer to a question. Or maybe I could hit someone with it and run away before anyone noticed I hadn’t actually taken the test. So I walked into the lobby. A herd of people, just like myself, were gathered like cattle. The only difference between us and cattle was that cattle don’t take SATs (Slaughtered And Toasted). We went to our respective rooms.
“This isn’t so bad.” I thought to myself as the nice, middle-aged woman read the directions and passed out the booklets.
In fact, I kept this thought all the way through the first math section.
“This is so easy!” I said as I calmly did math problems that had little math, but a whole lot of problems.
“RRRRRRRRRRRRING” said the egg timer.
“Holy….” I almost screamed. In a panic, I turned to the girl diagonally behind me and said, “I didn’t finish the last ten!” She avoided eye contact, and continued doing whatever she was doing. If I had been looking for sympathy, I had barked up the wrong tree. Firm in the knowledge that no one else really cared, I shut my mouth for the rest of the test and quietly freaked out.
“It’ll get better!” I thought to myself, “Next part is English! You’re good at English! You’re speaking it right now!”
And so I took the English part. It really wasn’t that difficult. And so I kept taking my test, quietly telling myself to relax. I came to a portion where I was instructed, in a thrilling monotone rendition of the SAT’s riveting scripted directions, that I could either have a Math section, or an English section.
“Oh boy!” I thought to myself, as I peeked ahead in my test-booklet (which is against regulations, so I think I can be jailed if the College Board finds out) and found that both of my sections were math. Great. My one chance of salvation. Gone. Oh well. I continued taking the test, until it was finally over. My stomach had grumbled noisily every fifteen or so minutes for the last three hours. I found it a good a time as any to eat.
“Lets go to Wendy’s” I said to my SAT-buddy and perennial Wendy’s-buddy Arman. “Righteous!” he said in a mock surfer accent. So a Surfer Ate There.