Relax. Take deep breaths. It's only your future.
Pre-law kids are a frightening bunch. Some might say I judged pre-med students harshly, but after spending an hour in the registration line at the LSATs, I've come to the conclusion maybe anyone headed to chain themselves to years of thankless study is a little nuts to begin with.
Despite the fact that LSAT study time filled whatever little spare time I had...I'm not really sure what to say about it now that it's over. The only things I remember from the exam was a passage about copyright law (BORING!), the muttering of "Shit, shit shit shit!" from the kid next to me whenever time was called for a section, and the weird girl who gave me a ride halfway to my house. Perhaps that's better...hopefully this will be my last scantron-bubble-filling orgy.
In other news...Since I know you all have been craving the latest horrifying glimpse at human nature, here's another random anecdote straight from the ninth circle of hell Baskin Robbins.
This woman comes barrelling in, after taking 20 minutes unpacking her brood of 19 or something kids from an SUV (Honestly I've never seen that many SUV's in one parking lot. No wonder we had to invade Iraq.) Oh yes, it must be the weekly round-up in honor of the sadist that came up with Dollar Scoop night at Baskin Robbins.
On with the story, three of the kids start climbing the tables randomly. I hold my breath, praying that an accident doesn't happen. Because, of course if, god forbid, the hyperactive kid bumps his head on the table, his mom will kill me. And probably the rest of my family too. Predictably, within minutes, I hear the wail of child coming out of an utterly preventable accident with aforementioned table.. His mom, the human baby factory (acronym HBF from here on out...sweet huh?) looks like she wants to rip out my soul. Why do parents never admit to the obvious klutziness of children (and some adults). It's as if they're trying their best to cover this shameful secret and the only way they know how is to villanize baskin robbins clerks. Moreover, they treat the store, with its utterly harmless assortment of tables and chairs, like it's a veritable gauntlet of danger. Like "Why the hell is this chair here?" ....I don't know...to SIT ON MAYBE?!
Whew. Ironically, the kid's name is actually DAMIEN. As in, the Omen. Honestly, no matter how appropriate, why on earth would you name a kid that? Miraculously I diffuse the situation with my cool mix of barely disguised boredom and fatigue. When it comes time to order, the HBF begins yelling insanely at Damien and his brothers for trying to speak before the girls. "LADIES FIRST!" she screams.....I'm sure at this point, that kid is going to spend years with his therapist trying to get past this very moment.
HBF then asks for a scoop of ice cream....of course, not specifying flavor, size, or anything remotely relevant, clearly expecting my psychic power to kick in. Sure, lady, and for my next trick I'll predict your kid's next bowel moment. What can I say...retards.
Anyway, after Damien and psycho mom finally left, I suddenly had the chilling realization that this was what I was going to have to endure full-time when my mom went to India, from December to February. Okay I should recap a little...
I finally got a job... as Google's newest scanner! I'm trying to find a way to spin this this so it seems like I'm even remotely using my bio degree. But who am I kidding? It's a monkey's job, and even though it requires me to get up freakishly early (5am!)...ehh . It's over at 2:30pm, I get corporate snacks, and it pays decently. I've decided doing something of purpose is gonna have to wait when I don't have the weight of my parents' problems and mine squarely on my shoulders.
In the meantime, I'm married to Baskin Robbins...it's an unholy marriage forged in the deepest pits of hell, but there's no way out of it. My mom is headed back to the Motherland for a couple months leaving me in charge. Whee... ahem, anyway it's forcing me to quit my real job (the one that actually pays) to slog it out serving dimwits dessert. As soon as she comes back, I have license to zoom to the airport and out of the states for as long as I can get away with. But until then...whew, I'm really earning this trip.
Dedicated to my new job:
Samir: "No, not again. I... why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam? I swear to God, one of these days, I just kick this piece of shit out the window."
Michael Bolton: "You and me both, man. That thing is lucky I'm not armed."
Samir: "Piece of shit."
-- Office Space
Despite the fact that LSAT study time filled whatever little spare time I had...I'm not really sure what to say about it now that it's over. The only things I remember from the exam was a passage about copyright law (BORING!), the muttering of "Shit, shit shit shit!" from the kid next to me whenever time was called for a section, and the weird girl who gave me a ride halfway to my house. Perhaps that's better...hopefully this will be my last scantron-bubble-filling orgy.
In other news...Since I know you all have been craving the latest horrifying glimpse at human nature, here's another random anecdote straight from the ninth circle of hell Baskin Robbins.
This woman comes barrelling in, after taking 20 minutes unpacking her brood of 19 or something kids from an SUV (Honestly I've never seen that many SUV's in one parking lot. No wonder we had to invade Iraq.) Oh yes, it must be the weekly round-up in honor of the sadist that came up with Dollar Scoop night at Baskin Robbins.
On with the story, three of the kids start climbing the tables randomly. I hold my breath, praying that an accident doesn't happen. Because, of course if, god forbid, the hyperactive kid bumps his head on the table, his mom will kill me. And probably the rest of my family too. Predictably, within minutes, I hear the wail of child coming out of an utterly preventable accident with aforementioned table.. His mom, the human baby factory (acronym HBF from here on out...sweet huh?) looks like she wants to rip out my soul. Why do parents never admit to the obvious klutziness of children (and some adults). It's as if they're trying their best to cover this shameful secret and the only way they know how is to villanize baskin robbins clerks. Moreover, they treat the store, with its utterly harmless assortment of tables and chairs, like it's a veritable gauntlet of danger. Like "Why the hell is this chair here?" ....I don't know...to SIT ON MAYBE?!
Whew. Ironically, the kid's name is actually DAMIEN. As in, the Omen. Honestly, no matter how appropriate, why on earth would you name a kid that? Miraculously I diffuse the situation with my cool mix of barely disguised boredom and fatigue. When it comes time to order, the HBF begins yelling insanely at Damien and his brothers for trying to speak before the girls. "LADIES FIRST!" she screams.....I'm sure at this point, that kid is going to spend years with his therapist trying to get past this very moment.
HBF then asks for a scoop of ice cream....of course, not specifying flavor, size, or anything remotely relevant, clearly expecting my psychic power to kick in. Sure, lady, and for my next trick I'll predict your kid's next bowel moment. What can I say...retards.
Anyway, after Damien and psycho mom finally left, I suddenly had the chilling realization that this was what I was going to have to endure full-time when my mom went to India, from December to February. Okay I should recap a little...
I finally got a job... as Google's newest scanner! I'm trying to find a way to spin this this so it seems like I'm even remotely using my bio degree. But who am I kidding? It's a monkey's job, and even though it requires me to get up freakishly early (5am!)...ehh . It's over at 2:30pm, I get corporate snacks, and it pays decently. I've decided doing something of purpose is gonna have to wait when I don't have the weight of my parents' problems and mine squarely on my shoulders.
In the meantime, I'm married to Baskin Robbins...it's an unholy marriage forged in the deepest pits of hell, but there's no way out of it. My mom is headed back to the Motherland for a couple months leaving me in charge. Whee... ahem, anyway it's forcing me to quit my real job (the one that actually pays) to slog it out serving dimwits dessert. As soon as she comes back, I have license to zoom to the airport and out of the states for as long as I can get away with. But until then...whew, I'm really earning this trip.
Dedicated to my new job:
Samir: "No, not again. I... why does it say paper jam when there is no paper jam? I swear to God, one of these days, I just kick this piece of shit out the window."
Michael Bolton: "You and me both, man. That thing is lucky I'm not armed."
Samir: "Piece of shit."
-- Office Space
