I don’t know if this just happens in the bizzaro land of academia but I’ve been in graduation Hell for the past two months.
I graduated in December, but there was some reporting problem with my grades so their idiotic mother-fucking snail-butt breath system was showing that I only had 114 of the 120 credits needed for graduation. I basically spent the month of December trying to figure the nose-drooling, goat-felching mess out. Mind you, I knew with 100% certainty that it was a problem on their [ass-smelling] end, not mine.
Throughout this, I’ve been lucky enough to talk to many, oh, ADMINISTRATIVE FUCKHEADS, who seem to positively delight in announcing “you didn’t graduate.” I have calmy explained that there is a reporting error and I’m trying to get to the mother fucking bottom of it.
“Hmmm…well, you didn’t graduate and on the off-chance that some information we have is incorrect, you’ll have to talk to someone about trying to get the decision overturned,” is the paraphrased, collective, smarmy oozing puss-filled “words of wisdom” that the ADMINISTRATIVE FUCKHEADS just have to toss in before sighing and directing my call somewhere else.
First of all, you hairy butt-wipes, there’s no “decision” to be “overturned.” YOUR pissant University screwed up royally. Why is that concept so unbelievably foreign to your brain matter?
So, after about a month and a half of dealing with this SHIT, all the while being assured by my advisor that yes, the problem is on their end, I was finally told that it was all figured out, and that the Dean had certified my graduation. The Registrar’s office had (as in PAST TENSE) been notified.
Today, I reached the end of the sanity line. Last stop. Everyone exit the sanity car.
I decided to call and check on when diplomas are being mailed. The woman puts me on hold and comes back to the mother fucking phone and says chirpily,
“oooo…I regret to inform you that you didn’t graduate!”
I’m going through a slow boil that’s been percolating since she put me on hold and say no, I DID graduate and there’s some kind of reporting error. No use, pube breath insists that I DIDN’T graduate. Because I am no longer sane, I argue with her instead of just sighing, taking a brick and bashing it into my skull. As she’s transferring me, I hear myself practically scream into the phone,
“But I DID graduate!!!”
But she, Pube Breath, had alreaddy transferred me so I ended up yelling it to Vangelis’ Chariots of Fire - ironic hold music for my situation.
So, I start the dance over again - albeit crazier and more gutter-mouthed than I once was. But I am not beaten.
There. I feel much better.