Dear Louise (darling Frisbee Mum / sorry-I-wrote-your-actual-name-my-biological-mother-will-otherwise-think-I-am-addressing-her-and-be-confused / vigilante justice warrior against muggers – true story) and Allison (twin / beloved countryman / maker of miracle microwave cookies / only person who will probably cry more than me tomorrow when we leave),
As the time draws nearer and nearer to the dreaded moment when I have to drop the ridiculous patriotic façade I affect for these adventures stories, write an embarrassingly sentimental goodbye post, and admit that I love England (I am still not singing the national anthem), I find solace in the fact that England’s complete inability to function in a centimeter or more of snow will probably cause the buses and trains to come to a panic ridden snow apocalypse stand still, causing me to miss my plane so I’ll be stranded here for a while longer (pretty likely actually), appreciatively waiting in the queues and bureaucratic quagmire that so charmingly characterize this great nation. But, like the paper I am currently supposed to be writing, I will procrastinate that moment, and instead recount a traditional tale of Olde (last week). Like the golden statue of Louise beating the crap out of a mugger and compelling he and his mugger crony to apologize for ruining her birthday which I will be erecting upon my return to the Homeland so people from all over the world will worship her like the golden goddess that she is (seriously, this is a true story. My Mum is a glorious champion) and the bards songs about Allison's various Wednesday evening triumphs which will undoubtedly be written and passed along for generations not only by me but also probably every other Aye Aye member, this traditional tale will be the stuff of legends (which means I am going to add a bunch of random extra bits to make myself sound cool).
The Great Technology Apocalypse of 2010 / The Most English Day Ever: A Tale of Bureaucratic Nonsense, Ineffectual Polite Apologies for Causing Huge Inconvenience, and Fire Safety
Once upon a time -- so long ago that every country in the world had not yet assimilated to the superior American culture, Land of McDonalds, Ke$ha, and freedom -- there was a magical Kingdom (of the United persuasion) called UEA. UEA was a happy kingdom, a kingdom filled with wonderful people and peculiar customs (beans and toast, wtf) and words (will someone please tell me what a “snood” really is? I don’t believe it’s a scarf. It sounds like something from Dr. Seuss). But one day, an ominous cloud settled over the Kingdom. This cloud was different than the benign rainclouds that constantly rested over the fair city; it was the Cloud of Finals. It was a dark time for the people of UEA. Their mirthful partying ceased. They holed themselves into the darkness of their hilariously little dorm pods for days at a time, away from the gentle light of the sun which shined behind the rain clouds and the Finals Cloud, as they wrote useless term papers and did revision (studied) for the trials that awaited them. They lived only on jars of Nutella and dreamed of a day when their visa would arrive from India (did I mention yet that I have a visa?). But the people of UEA had hope. They knew that the Finals Cloud would one day pass, just as it had every previous semester. Little did they know what lay in store for them.
It was 11 PM and Panicking-Finals-Mode-Jesse (I’m writing in third person. My 7th grade math teacher used to talk about herself in third person, so, yes, I realize that I sound insane, but fairy tales just don’t work in first person) had just finished writing the first draft of paper about Norwich folklore, which she had put off because she was too busy battling the entire English and Indian government to get a visa, when it happened. Facebook did not work. But Jesse did not fret. She knew that there were cornucopias of other procrastination websites on the internet. Valiantly, she moved on to tetris. But it, too, did not work. The worst had happened. The UEA network was down. Jesse’s productivity immediately skyrocketed because there were no internet games to distract her. She assumed that UEA would actually bother to fix the computer system which its students rely on for research during finals week, so she thought nothing of the horrible calamity that lay ahead, and went to sleep. The next morning, there was still no internet. No email available to contact teachers, no online research databases, no printers working on the entire campus, no way to check out books at the library or even search books as UEA had long ago disposed of its card catalogue (probably a fire hazard). Freshers quaked in fear. Third years wept openly as they faced their giant dissertations. There was screaming in the streets. It was a disaster profound that not even Jesse's Mum, Louise, the most fearsome warrior of her time, could fix it. Nothing could be done, not until the administration went through the requisite thirty queues and eighty different unnecessary departments required to fix simple problems. The library erected a sign which read: “we apologize for the inconvenience.” They sent out emails which no one could read explaining important information like deadline extensions and when the printers might work again so students could actually turn in their work.
But Jesse did not fret. She knew of a secret library in town, a place that boasts 800 sprinklers to ensure fire safety, called the Forum, which provided access to the internet. So off she bravely trekked to town hoping to do research or at least actually be able to read the prompt which was posted online for her next essay. On the way, she ran into Allison the Magnanimous, undoubtedly off to bake more magic cookies, tap dance with Anna, or distribute pairs of Christmas ornaments to the inconsolable masses. Bidding her fantastic twin farewell, Jesse caught the 25 bus into town. After waiting in the queue for the public computer for half an hour for the gentleman in front of her to play his game of Doom 2, signed onto the computer, only to discover that no research databases were available at the Forum. But at least she had her essay prompt. So she found an empty study desk plugged her laptop into one of the two outlets provided at every single desk in the entire building, and began to write sans internet. She was so naïve. How could she not have seen the warning signs – that conveniently placed outlets at every one of the equally convenient study desks could not be what they seemed?
Suddenly, a shadow hovered over her.
“Excuse me. You can’t have that plugged in.” Jesse looked up. A library work stood over her, eyeing the outlet disapprovingly.
“Uhhhh… okay. Can I ask why?”
“It’s a fire hazard.”
And so Jesse left the secret library which boasts “800 sprinklers with 160,000 litres of water stored on site and ready for use supplied by two pumps, each capable of pumping 2,700 litres per minute” and “over 600 fire detection devices” on the interesting facts section of its official website, and journeyed home. Times were dark indeed. But fear not, reader, UEA managed to fix its internet in just 2 days time. Students could again waste a bunch of time on Facebook.
The End
I have another story about the miracle of Cranksgivmas, but I’m going to wait for my flatmate, Joe, to send the origins story of Cranksgivmas before I tell this glorious tale.
Other than that, I’ve basically just been studying all day every day, and spending as much time as humanly possible with my glorious flatmates and glorious frisbee team every night. Since my visa came early (because the US Embassy is awesome), and most people are leaving campus tomorrow, I’m thinking about spending next week exploring parts of the UK I haven’t seen yet. (I haven’t planned anything yet because I’m busy with papers) Anyway, I’m about to enter the last leg of the finals and revise my very last paper, so I’m going to stop procrastinating.
P.S. Bowman is going to try to claim all the credit for discovering Allison, Frisbee Prodigy and most fun person in the entire universe, next semester at Dickinson. But I found her first. Just saying.
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