It’s Over, Seriously

Tomorrow is Christmas. Presents have been purchased, wrapped and properly labeled.  Two batches of holiday cookies, neatly sealed in red & green tins are piled on my kitchen counter.  This year, I’m ahead of the game. I’ve even avoided my annual pre-xmas head cold.

So why am I losing it?

Because I’ve got a handful of students who don’t understand that school has actually ended. In a 24-hour, electronic world, the emails just keep coming.

 

Email: “I can’t get in touch with you. You’re not in your office.”

 

Unmailed Response:“I’m in my pajamas wrapping gifts.”

 

 

Email:“I’m just trying to hand in my assignment like you asked.”

 

Unmailed Response:  “From November? It’s almost January.”

 

 

Email:“Thank you for the extension”

 

Unmailed Response:“Huh?”

 

 

Email:“I missed the final.”

 

Unmailed Response:  “It missed you too.”

 

Diary of a Late Paper



8:30am

Gee, he’s still working on me. And he’s typing so fast, he kweeps mking misthtakes. I can’t take it. I’ll look horrible in a “D”.  The last time I went straight to print without spellcheck, I ended up crammed into an expensive plastic folder in a showy, but useless attempt to cover up my flaws.

8:50am  

Okay, he’s slowing down.  Wait, what is he saying? How do you spell bibliography?  For God’s sake kid, spell check it! It’s free.

9:00am

No! Not the margins. Please, not the margins. You’re squeezing too hard.  Sure, I’ll be ten-pages, but inside I’m suffering.

9:20am

I’ve always been a word man. Numbers were never my thing. But if I had to guess, I think this class started 20 minutes ago.

9:30am

Oh, there it is.  It’s a little glitchy, but I think I’m being Saved. 

9:31am 

Draft! You saved me as draft? You x!#$%^& piece of X$%67!

9:50am 

I hope you catch a virus the Geek Squad can’t cure because at this moment you are no better than a floppy disk. Go ahead, hit print. I dare you.

9:51am

Well, there it is. I’m a cover sheet. I’m flying solo. No backup, no page-count. I heard about the cover sheet scam when I was in the big box from a bunch of foam packing peanuts. I thought those guys were nuts. I guess the joke is on me.

10:00am

I’m flat on my back, staring up into a pair of smudged glasses. Focus, I think. Keep that title centered. It’s all you’ve got. My edges begin to curl as I catch the end of the cover sheet scam.

            “My printer broke. Can I email you the rest later?”

I peer off into a corner of white space and spot a row of single cover sheets making their way to the podium. Forget it kid. But just remember, I wasn’t so bad as a draft.