This morning, I was awoken to the yell of my sister, saying "They're already here!". They, being my carpool that my sister, herself arranged just last night for our last day of final exams. As soon as I could grasp this reality, I got ready as soon as possible, ignoring the hygiene of my teeth, and struggling one at a time with my contacts that for some inextricable reason wouldn't go in!
Then by the time I got ready, and mind you it's 7:30 exactly--not that bad of a time for an 8:10 exam--I went downstairs, opened our front door to the sight of an empty driveway. I thought one of two things: (1) they're all late, my sister gave me an early warning, and I'm the one who's early, or (2) I was indeed the one late. And if entitling this entry with my adjective, "ungood" doesn't blatantly hint at the fact that choice number two is what happened, then I don't know what will.
So the situation wasn't a good one. I then thought I could take my car, and just screw over my sister, forcing her to get a ride with someone else, but then I knew she would berate me to no end, and I would suffer great consequences. I decided to ask my father if he'd drive me, especially given that should he, unlike me, be caught speeding, wouldn't have his license taken away, knows the Ogden route to school much better, I could study along the way, and also I wouldn't be forced to park for I could simply run out like a madman on a getaway mission.
Thus my father drove me to school, and during much of it, I spent my time partially studying my Religion notes, and keeping a keen eye on both clock and road. Almost in an act of cruelty, the clock slowly swept past 7:50, then 8:00, then most unbearably, 8:10. By this time, we weren't even on Roosevelt, and I knew I would face shame, humiliation, and possibly even the prospect of having my test moved back, which wouldn't bode well given that I instructed my sister to keep my car unlocked, and to place the keys in it so as to ensure that I get them, rather than the "per chance" opportunity of seeing her in the hallway or on the street and receiving the keys from her then and there.
As soon as my father pulled in front of the school, I booked. I stopped worrying, and hoped for the best. But those hopes were soon sullied as I saw not a single other student in my shoes. At this point, I was severely, nearly inexcusably late. By 8:18, I ran up the stairs, ran through the brown-carpeted hallway, and ran into the silence of room 145, the computer lab in which my class was taking their religion final.
I opened the door ever so slyly, and at my arrival, received modest clapping by only two students. I had thought surely, this was going to be a class act (no pun intended), but as it seemed, everyone was hard at work at this intricate 150-question test, and couldn't be bothered to perform an act of tomfoolery. The instructor present in our class was Mr. (Coach) Stassen, and he kindly told me where to sit, and I did so diligently, grateful that he didn't berate me for my insolence.
With 150 questions to go, and 52 minutes to spare, I revved my brain and typed faster than I ever have before, "Username: Michael.Lenoch, Password: ********", pressed "Enter", and away I went. I opened Edline.net, headed straight for the "School Login", and was faced again with another login query. I complied to the technology's antics, and then clicked on "Religion 4", and later, the "Tests" folder. To my concern, an error screen appeared, and was prompted, yet again, to sign in to the silly website. I did so with equal haste, and made my way, finally, to the test page.
Incredibly, based on my brief studying on the car ride to school, I found a great deal of the questions easy, or so I had thought. I blissfully blasted past all 150 questions by 8:48, allowing me more than ample time to check my work. Occasionally, my teacher, Mr. McLarty came into the room to assist us with any confusion. By his second trip, he came up to me, completely unsolicited, patted me on the back, and said "So good for you to join us" with a wide smile. I smiled my best in return, with dirty teeth and all, giving him the cue to leave the room.
While checking my masterpiece, I heard a fellow student cry "Walsh!", the last name of yet another classmate, Matt Walsh. Tolerating the intermittent disturbances of cry and Apple's signature volume control sound alike, I checked my 100% exam, and found only two questions to change. I promptly did so, and was on my way to submitting the final exam, which if I remember correctly, counts for 15% of my grade. Oh joy.
I got 60% of my questions correct. This clearly was the shame and humiliation I was expecting as I walked into the door of my beloved school. I had no qualms sharing this score, as evidenced by me posting the very tidbit this very public blog, which had me share it among friends, and often provoked laughter. After I received one laugh, I then said the score with a smile. For the life of me, I feel I cannot do well on Mr. McLarty's tests. They're simply too in-depth, especially considering this past one was a SEMESTER exam, which means it should rather broadly, cover everything in this semester, not a few weeks of that semester, all under a microscope.
So I reveled in the poor score. People in the hallway asked, and surprisingly, some had already known. Regardless, this wasn't my primary concern at the moment. I had to find my sister because I had a sneaking suspicion that she didn't follow through with my request for her to leave the keys of my car underneath the passenger's seat. I scoured the school. 40s hallway, second floor, third floor, 50s hallway, second floor, third floor, but to no avail. I concluded she must be in the first floor where I had taken my exam. I looked there too, but also, to no avail. In fact, I again came across my harsh test-giving, back-patting, snarky comment-delivering teacher, Mr. McLarty. I carried out a brief conversation with him as I attempted to explain myself based on the perplexed expression he rendered at first. I told him my dilemma until the computer lab technician came and started to talk to him, I left him. As I journied through the school I asked suburbanite after another whether I could have a ride, but yet again, to no avail. One was going to New York for the four-day weekend, another going to lunch, and another had a Precalculus exam.
I went to the car, incredulous that the keys were where I instructed for my sister to place them. I entered the salt-ridden, black BMW via the passenger's door, expecting the keys below the seat, but unsurprisingly, they weren't there. I looked all around--from the rear, to the glove compartment, to the center console--I tried multiple times, moving both the driver and passenger seats so as to expose my dear keys, but to no avail. After my excavation, I finally came across a bulge in the driver's floor mat. Incredibly, my key and keyless entry switch sat peacefully there all along while I reeked mayhem looking for them. Evidently, my sister feared the car would go stolen given that it was totally unlocked, in the city, and to her foolishness, parked right in the front of the lot, which didn't help our chances of it not getting stolen one bit. Coping from the fumes coming from my head, I gracefully backed out and I was outta' there. Thank the Lord.