Letter: Reader offers some bad advice on being a student

Reader Douglas Miller shares a story from his university days that students should not take as advice, unless they want the universe to punish them too

From Pexels by Cottonbro

I was chatting with a nephew who will be attending first year university in the next few weeks. It was enjoyable listening to his tangible excitement over the coming adventure and the possibilities that await.

Of course, it reminded me of my own experiences of that time and the stories that were created and I couldn’t resist sharing one with him in an avuncular manner.

I was always an indifferent student. Don’t get me wrong; I loved school. The whole entertaining carnival nature of it was endlessly captivating, but I never, ever studied. Oh sure, I completed all the papers and projects, but homework just didn’t happen.

It wasn’t because I wasn’t encouraged to do so. I just chose not to.

The choice was a mixture of naiveté, arrogance and tomfoolery. In other words, I was an idiot about it.

I think the only thing that saved me is that I have always enjoyed taking tests and exams, and except for the occasional sting, I got away with it.

But not this time.

First year, McMaster University, and I was required to take one humanities course, so I chose English.

That eight-month course comprised three lectures and one tutorial per week. I went to only the very first lecture in September and the very last lecture at the end of the school year.

My illustrious reasoning was with the weekly tutorial being quite intense, why bother going to the lectures when everything was surely covered in that one session? My perfect display of logic was reinforced when my December mid- term exam went well enough.

April. Little did I know a day of reckoning was at hand.

I went to the last lecture to find out what the exam would possibly look like and had the wonderful shock of realizing that I was likely to get an absolute zero on the final exam. It turned out that in the previous eight months, the class had read and analyzed 20 different books that had nothing to do with the weekly tutorial.

The three-hour exam would be three essay format questions on only three of those 20 books.

I had read precisely none of those works of literature.

Devastating. I still remember my vision going fuzzy and cold icy fear gripping my innards.

With the exam only 36 hours away, I rallied like the orchestra on the deck of the Titanic, got a list of those books off a fellow student and went to the library not knowing what else to do.

I tried putting myself in the shoes of the professor and checked out three books that I would test people on, if I were the prof.

Feeling sick to my stomach at my own foolishness, I could only flip through the pages as it was just too much material to properly absorb in the time I had. Just awful.

Exam day. With a morbid, greasy anxiety I opened the exam booklet and despite my best efforts, I had guessed correctly on all three books. A lightning bolt of pure thrill went through me and I remember thinking, “I got a shot at this!”

I melted with relief. And we all know what happens when things melt? That’s right. I had to have a tinkle that would have shamed a race horse.

Raising my hand – I was escorted to the washroom like some sort of piratey criminal.

Despite my dignity being somewhat ruffled by the exam moderator standing in the washroom with me making sure I didn’t somehow cheat, I endeavored to take care of business.

With my head lolled to one side and my tongue almost hanging out with sweet bliss, I was for the moment in a very good state of being.

Finished. Zip — obstruction — pain – What? Oh man! Really?!

Yes, it was true. My Mr. Johnson had been well and truly ensnared in the fine teeth of that zipper.

You could almost hear the universe whispering to me in judgment: “No sir. You’re not getting this one for free. There is a price and this is the toll.”

It is amazing the number of thoughts that can course through the mind in moments of dire peril, but having always fancied myself being the decisive sort; I knew what I had to do.

With a fearsome yank of the zipper tab, I closed my eyes and hoped for the best. Startled by the inevitable sharp pinch I glanced down with apprehension and was delighted to see that my Jolly Roger was still with me.

Dizzy with the totality of the experience, I was almost frog-marched back to my exam and had at it.

Tally ho, tally whacker!

In the chapters of life, there are all kinds of dos and don’ts we can offer one another, and I think most of us have a lot more fun sharing the don’ts.

Enjoy yourself.

P.S. In case you were wondering, I received a 93 per cent on that exam. Yeah, I know. I’m a jackass.