By Earnest Eleanor, Staff Satirist
The four days leading up to Fall Break were perhaps the longest days of my existence. It had been an unusually hard beginning of the semester—new material being heaped on me like I was expected to concentrate and study after only a week of introductory material and syllabus-reading to help me shift from my summer- numbed mental state. I needed the break.
After my last class on Thursday, I skipped back to my room feeling possibly the most free I’ve felt since finals ended last May. Even though professors make up for the respite of Fall Break by giving us an inordinate amount of reading, I could still do this reading by the pool, or in my bed, or anywhere I chose. It was Fall Break, sweet sunny Fall Break. The glorious five-day break which lasts longer than the one we get for Thanksgiving.
As I traipsed back to my dorm room, deciding whether I should go lay on a lounge chair near the pool (it was a remarkably hot day) or curl back into bed and take a nice nap, I ran into one of my lovely Scrippsies in the hallway.
“Soo glad it’s Fall Break!” I chirped, giving her a little fist pump that I’ve learned from our ever-so-intelligent friends over at Jersey Shore. I know it’s cheesy, but it really does pump you up.
I stopped mid-pump when I noticed, to my alarm, that my Scrippsie friend was shaking her head in frustration.
“Yeah, it’s Fall Break for you!” she whimpered. “You’re so lucky!”
I heard the jealously in her voice, but my mind was busy contemplating the hot sunshine and the nap I would soon be taking poolside. (I had solved my earlier dilemma by combining the activities. Clever, I know. )
Forcing myself to focus on the issue at hand, I tried to figure out why my fellow Scrippsie was not going to join me in my poolside relaxation. “What do you mean? Do you still have another class today?” I asked. It was early afternoon, I reminded myself. Late class on Thursday was always a bummer, but sometimes it was unavoidable.
I watched the frustration on her face grow. Her jaw tightened, and I might have caught a glimmer of angry tears in those eyes. Horrified, I braced myself for the only possible answer.
“I have...Friday Class.”
I winced at those fatal words, feeling a rush of sympathy for my tormented friend.
“So you have a Keck Science class,” I observed with an understanding nod, trying not to think too hard about the horror that is Friday Class. Friday. Class. The two words should just never exist in the same sentence.
“No!” she moaned. “It’s at Scripps.” Irritation rang clear through her battered voice.
The Keck Science Department is one thing, but Scripps? We don’t have classes on Friday. It’s our day of homework (or, more likely, of some well-deserved relaxation). It’s the night where the 5Cs are pretty much dead: chill in your room or outside, hang out with your friends, maybe take a nice walk to the village... But learn? In a classroom? On a Friday? No, surely not. Not at Scripps.
A few of us, apparently, are not so lucky. Some Scripps students must endure the weekly suffering that is a class on Friday. My heart goes out to you, Friday Class Endurers. Hopefully next semester you can return to the normal and have your Fridays free and clear.
I know the rest of the world abides by the notion that Friday is a weekday. But let’s be real. It’s not. How can our weekend begin with the always classy TNC if we have to be mentally present the next day for class on Fridays?
It’s a tough life at Scripps, it really is.