You can often tell exam season by the appearance of those running through the halls of the university. While the start of the semester showed students in full hair and makeup with an array of styles, exam time often displays the result of the bare minimal requirement to leave the house. I’m talking throw your hair in a bun, brush your teeth, and pray no one will try something stupid at school, like making eye contact with you when you’re running full speed ahead to get to an exam.
In my rush to get to my one p.m. exam today (which was tricky, since I take every opportunity possible to sleep until the crack of noon), I caught a reflection of myself in a store window. Oh, what a sad sight I was. Messy bun, oversized sweatshirt, questionable sweatpants, and footwear that was more slipper than boot greeted my gaze as I thought “man, that chick really needs to put herself together.”
But that is neither here nor there, because the most important part about all of this was that I got my hands on caffeine before this dreadful final exam was to take place. As I dashed to the nearest Starbucks, I saw the long line of people, and quickly rolled the dice.
I waited patiently. And then more patiently. And then I practiced as much patience as I could possibly muster when I head someone at the front of the line ask “Do you think the white chocolate mocha will be too chocolatey? I mean I want chocolate but I don’t want, like, chocolate-chocolate, you know?”
I know when I’ve been beat, and as the clock on my phone told me, it was time to accept defeat and run to that exam. I sat down, slightly disappointed about the coffee, but my disappointment quickly tuned to panic as I gazed at the multiple choice questions. Was I blanking? Did I not study enough? Should I have waited in line for the coffee to jump start my brain?
I was going to “not do so well” for the first time in a long time. As someone that had a, shall we say, relaxed attitude towards school work in high school, I made up for it in college, where I spent every waking second cramming enough information in my head to walk out of that place with an honours diploma.
I filled in the questions I knew, and went back to review the rest of them. Some were a complete guess, and just as I was trying to figure out how big an impact failing this exam would have on my grade, I heard a tiny breath of whisper behind me:
“Eenie, meenie, miney, mo”.
I let out a chuckle. And then I relaxed a little. Clearly someone else was in the same boat as I was. I thought about the intention I had set to live a more meaningful life, and quickly decided that in the grand scheme of things, this was certainly nothing to sweat over.
I finished up, handed in the catastrophe that was my exam, and then headed over to the same Starbucks, where I had a very important question for the barista.
“Exactly how chocolatey is your white chocolate mocha?”