Sex, Drugs, And Foreigners: How I Failed My English Final


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Sex, Drugs, And Foreigners: How I Failed My English Final

Just like they had my previous two semesters in college, finals crept up on me faster than you can knock back a few tequila shots, and let’s just say I was less than prepared. But can you really blame me? I have a job, I’m involved in the philanthropic (i.e. social) functions of my supa fine sorority, I’m a member of my university’s Student Government, and I even volunteer at the animal shelter. I’m a busy person. How can I be expected to focus on something as trivial as my GPA? It’s not like college is meant to foster time management and studying, right? That shit’s for rookies, and I work well under pressure. *hair flip*

One of the downfalls of my very large SEC school’s final exam schedule is that test dates are spaced out over five days: some on Thursday and Friday, the rest Monday through Wednesday of the following week. Exam times can range from 8am to 7pm depending on your class block. One of my roommates lucked out and finished Monday, so it was just me and the other roomie (we’ll call her “Hannah”) in our right-off-Greek-Row townhouse apartment for the next two days.

So being the responsible young lass that I am, I decided a mere 18 hours before my English final that I should probably take a peek at the 100+ terms I was expected know by noon the following day.

WARNING: the following is the absolutely true account of the events that took place between the hours of 5:30 pm on Tuesday, December 15th and 3:45 am Wednesday, December 16th:

The evening started out as a typical cram sesh. I was just starting to feel the effects of my dear old pal, Adderall, and was armed with flashcards, colored pens, and “Classical for Studying” radio.

5:30 pm: *Hannah comes racing down the stairs*
“Hey, do you mind driving me to my final??? I’ll love you forever!”

I was more than happy to oblige, seeing as all I was accomplishing was a pre-study Facebook stalk of my current crush (call me).

“Sure. No problem!” I replied.

5:35 pm: *driving to main campus*
Everything’s normal at this point: I’m starting to brush the surface of the “mega focus” zone, and Hannah casually lets it drop that she and her classmates are heading to the bars after the test: typical post-final behavior.

I wished her good luck and headed back to the apartment.

5:55-9:30 pm: *cue the studies*

*phone vibrates and trance is broken by a text from Hannah*
“Hey Katie, can you come pick me up?”

*Eye roll.* What am I, your slave????
“Absolutely! Be there in five!”

9:45 p.m: We’re back at the apartment. Hannah runs upstairs to get sexy, and I dive back into my studies.

10:30 pm: *Hannah emerges*
Hair curled. Outfit on point. Blessed to know her.

“Katie girl, called an Uber so you wouldn’t have to get up. I know you need to study!”

“Aww, thank you! Have fun. Call me if you need me!” DO NOT CALL ME.

“Thanks! Study hard!” *Hannah leaves*

10:35 pm – 2:00 am:
You know, I’d love to pretend I got a lot done here, but let’s be honest: I did some studying, browsed every form of social media three times, finished stalking the crush, and wrote thank you notes to my boss for my Christmas present, ‘cause mama didn’t raise no scrub.

2:03 am: *Sounds of a couple stumbling up the front steps.*

Surely, I thought, that cannot be Hannah. I mean Hannah does NOT bring guys home. Not that she can’t, she just…doesn’t. And not that I’m slut shaming: I’m always down for a good drunken (or sober, or hangry) romp, but this is Hannah we’re talking about. She’s not me. She has that “moral compass” thing.

*sounds of door unlocking*

Much to my surprise, in walks Hannah, and right behind her is a living, breathing male.

“Hehehe… heyyyyyy,” she grinned, and without another word, they slink upstairs to her room, which happens to be right above the room where I’m studying. Fabulous.

2:05 am- 3:00 am:
The next few minutes were horrific. Forever burned into my memory like flashbacks from ‘Nam. Cursed with a creaky floor and thin walls, I could hear everything.

The worst part is the nature of what I was hearing: steady rhythmic floor creaks, strange slapping noises, periods of dead silence, also sounds like someone did a barrel roll off the bed at least eight times.

Many questions entered my mind. What had I done to deserve this torture? Was this punishment for procrastinating? Was this a self-reflective lesson sent from Jesus himself on my own promiscuity? Are they shacking, or imitating a WWE fight? Oh God, Is that what I sound like?

The list goes on….

3:15-3:30 am: Finally, after a prolonged period of silence, I hear her door open. I pretend to be focusing, when I hear what I assume is Hannah bounding down the stairs. Plot twist: it’s the guy, flustered and buckling his skinny jeans (Ew).

In a perfect world, we would have exchange hellos and he would have been on his way. But this is me we’re talking about, and I have more awkward encounters daily than Queen Yoncé has insta followers. So of course, this kid (“Sam”) walks over, sits down at the table, and starts to chat.

Here’s a few highlights:

Sam in a thick Australian accent: “Hi I’m Sam. What’s your name? What’re you up to down here?” okay, two points for the accent.

Me cursed with sickly sweet South Georgia manners, plays along: “Nice to meet you, I’m Katie. Just studying for my final tomorrow.”

Sam: “What’s your major? Where are you from? Most people think I’m British. Your family is Irish, huh? You look Latino…”

BRO. I am whiter than fat free milk. Are you kidding me? Stop talking. GO HOME.

Sam: “So how do you know Hannah?”

Me: “Same sorority, you?”

Sam: “We just met tonight.” Nice, H.

As I stared at Sam, I couldn’t help but have the aching feeling I knew him from somewhere, and I wracked my brain trying to figure out from where.

Sam: *Picks up thank you note* “Hah. That’s neat. This must still be a southern girl thing?” Ha. Yeah! That and I’m not a prick…

3:31 am: Sam finally gets the message that that is totally effing bizarre, and leaves, walking to the door as slow as humanly possible.

As I sit here watching the sun rise, I can’t help but wonder: why me? Am I doomed to a lifetime of awkward encounters? Does @DeVryGuy have a girlfriend? *heavy sigh*

So here I am: sleep deprived, a little bit amused, and a whole lot of confused. I walked into my exam for the class I’d been to approximately four times all semester, fully prepared to kiss any chance I had at an A goodbye. When there he was. Sam. My fucking TA.


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