My Fight to Graduate

11 May

May 8th, 5:00 pm- UNT registrar closes, deadline to turn in forms for commencement has ended. My forms are on a counter in Waxahachie, Texas. Shit sandwich.

May 10th, 10:08am- I return to my home for Mother’s Day.

May 10th, 4:36pm- My mother hands me a legal size envelope from UNT.

I thought it was just a card for the speaker so he doesn’t mispronounce my name. This is a pretty important card. I can still remember the time I forgot to turn in my pronunciation card in high school: “Patrick Husted…(here comes my turn)…Dick Face (that’s not how you pronounce my name)…” I hated high school. Anyway, yea, I needed to turn in this card before 5:00pm Friday. I opened the letter and found the card on the 10th– two days late. I’m gripped with fear. Fear that grabs me around my wrist and squeezes real hard. Real hard. Real Hard 2: Real With a Vengeance. Real Hard 3: Real Harder. Live Free or Real Hard (Real Hard 4.0 in Japan).

What am I supposed to do? How can I remedy this misunderstanding and get this card turned in? There’s an entire framework of bureaucracy standing in my way. I’m not afraid of bureaucracy–unless it’s a ghost bureaucracy; those do scare me pretty good.

I decidedthat although the deadline had passed, I’ll still go up to registrar Monday morning and turn my card in, as if nothing was going on. To fool the person at the front desk, I decide to wear exactly what I’d worn the previous Monday. 4 days earlier than the deadline. I’ll fool them. I also set my watch back to 8:32am from the previous Monday (I later realized that 8:32am looks the same no matter what day it is.)

I wake up extra early on Monday. I’m going to get a head start on this bitch, catch the registrar staff off gaurd while they’re still fresh off sleep, tired, bitter, wanting so bad to return to bed. Not me, though. No. I’m going to get some Shit done (“shit” should be capitalized when it’s about something important).

The registrar is inside the Union. I go in and look around for the biggest, toughest looking registrar staff member to fight in order to assert my dominance. University politics are a lot like prison politics.

I find a dude and punch him in the back of the head. He beats the living shit out of me. I hate getting punched in the mouth and eye and cheek and jaw and head and side head and back of the head and stomach and ribs and arm and I think balls once because they hurt.

Brushing myself off, I walk up to the desk.

“Hello, sir. I have this card for graduation.”

“We stopped taking those Friday.”

“I understand that, but you see, this envelope was in my hometown, so I never got a chance to open it and read it, I–”

“You can go upstairs and talk to Records if you want.” I did want to. I did.

“I do want to.” I say. My palms lay flat on his stupid desk counter thing. I spit. He beats the shit out of me again.

Anyway, I go talk to records. At the time I think “Records” is a human being with way too much power. I walk upstairs and begin beating on a nearby table.

“Records! I want Records! Where are you, you coward?!” I hold out my arms and spin slowly, welcoming Records’ aggression.

“WHERE ARE YOU, RECORDS?!” I scream. Then a small voice from the side of the room says “Over here, sir, Records and Graduation Information Office is this way.” She was really. For the briefest of moments, I let my gaurd down. perhaps “Records” isn’t all that bad after all. I hold out the paper I was told to turn in last Friday.  She just takes my card and says “No worries,” when I start giving her my justifications. No big deal. All fixed.

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3 Responses to “My Fight to Graduate”

  1. Raggedy Andy and Andy May 12, 2009 at 3:34 am #

    lolz

  2. John Mayer May 12, 2009 at 4:47 pm #

    Kyle,

    So sorry to hear all of that. Let’s get together an play some tunes.

    John

  3. Kyle Irion May 12, 2009 at 5:01 pm #

    Totally. See you soon, bro.

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