On Monday I made it through my first senior half yearly exam.
It was only English, so don’t worry, I’m not about to have a mad rant about how I, a sixteen-year-old, moody student dislikes exams. Because first, I really don’t… I always seem to do better under pressure and exams are perfect for that. Also, I have mostly good teachers and even better color-coding skills. (Hi Miss legendary English Teacher, thanks for preparing me not to face my death). secondly, because that seems predictable and boring and I refuse to be either of those things.
Anyway, what happened was that one of my friends that morning had revealed to me the tissues she kept in her pocket for the exam. No, not to cheat, not so she could cry during the exam, not to wipe up her failures… because she was prepared for ‘exam nose’. You all know what I’m talking about. You’re sitting there, quietly minding your own business, not sick, not overly upset, but for some reason, the exam room is always cold, and you feel that nice little cold water-like substance drip out down your nostril, without fail, every time. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, then talk to someone who nose.
As I said, don’t settle in for your run of the mill teenage angsty rant. Unlike exam week, it’s not about to happen. So basically, I give you 5 Problems of Exam Conditions, Besides the Exam.
The Dodgy Table
This one might just be a problem that only my school faces, but it’s the most real one. This is my biggest fear, and I’m not alone here, but every year, there’s that one poor soul that ends up with the ditsy table. Please tell me you know what I’m on about. Row upon row of dodgy wobbly tables. The ones that fold in at the legs, and occasionally (and by occasionally I mean every time) these flimsy tables pick a loser, and someone ends up making the racket during the exam that has everyone turning around like a bomb just dropped.
I have so much respect for the people who have sat in that chair, the table and their belongings scattered at their feet, with every eye staring at them like they just let off a massive whopper of a fart… which brings me to my next point.
Having to Sneeze or Fart (or just make any noise really)
Okay, picture this if you can (and if you can’t, you’re in denial because it actually happened to you). You’re sitting there, head down, tongue out, pen pressed, flat-out pumping out the goods, attaining those almost A’s and barely B’s and certainly C’s…? DUN DUN DUUUUN!!! ? plays in the background of your imaginary life* as your nose gets all niggly. It’s a big one. You can feel your head walking up the sneeze stairs ready to jump and roll back down with a bang… *enter squeaky suspenseful music* and BANG! AaaCHoo! Bam the dirt is gone. And by dirt, I mean any chance of ever making another friend in your life. Either you’re going to hate every eye looking at you, or you’ll keep your head down, and there will be that one kid (that kid is me). Who is absolutely dying to say “bless you” and has been doing her absolute best to stick to exam conditions and not speak for 2 hours. Thanks a lot sneezing kid. You’re probably the reason no one ever says bless you when I sneeze, because that one chance I had to be nice, I couldn’t take it.
That One Guy
Talking about rude people; is it just me or is there just always that one guy who, for whatever stupid reason, just. wont. stop. tapping. Honestly, this one might be just my problem, but if I’m required not to talk during an exam, why is he allowed to click his pen non-stop? Why is he allowed to tap his foot, hit the table with his crusty little finger tips? And God better helps him if he starts doing that little twitchy leg-shake thing and I can see it out the corner of my eye. It’s a massive no from me, dude. Just don’t. Mind you I won’t actually say anything to him because this guy is nearly always that idiot douche that thinks he’s above everything and everyone because he has ADHD and gets to play with silly putty or god-forbid, fidget spinners.
Writing your Name
“Your exam is now over; please ensure your name is written on every piece of paper you used and pens down.”
Oh… okay… so you mean to say those full five minutes before the end of the exam I could’ve put towards my actual exam? We get time after we’re done? Oh, right, so I just wasted my entire future and all my potential because it took me five whole minutes to write “Tyneesha Williams” on every page, front and back, in case it magically split down the middle and ended up as two pieces of paper? You mean to tell me that this, the hundredth exam I’ve taken in the last four years is the one where they give you extra time to write your name?No no, it’s all easy going for all you John Smith’s and Lucy Brown’s… BUT I HAVE SIXTEEN LETTERS IN MY FIRST AND LAST NAME ALONE. Imagine writing all sixteen letters. The same ones, over and over, everywhere you can. Barely able to fit on the line, after you’ve just done a 2 hour exam where you had to rush for time to write your name and write it neatly because you were taught to take ownership of your mistakes, and your name (if your lucky) is the only thing that you’ll get correct in this exam.
Now imagine that all that effort is for nothing because, at the end of it, you’re given time to write your name afterwards like all the forgetful Fred’s and unbothered Uma’s.
Ouch, my Hand
Hold your hats kids, this one’s gonna come as a shock. Old teachers, hold back your canes because it’s not like that anymore (supposedly), but I’m left handed. Yes, that means I have to make sure I sit on the correct side next to a right-hander. Yes, it took me a while to figure that out, and I pissed a lot of people off by bumping them. How am I holding my pen like that? With my hand. My left hand. How can I write like that? Again, with my hand. My left hand. Please, pick up your jaw and stop acting like you found a chicken nugget of gold like “OMG I didn’t know you were left handed?!”. Now you know.
Yes, my handwriting isn’t the greatest, the rumours are true about us, I’m a little bit of a weirdo. There are benefits though, for example, I’m supposedly better at sports than you because I use both sides of my brain for coordination (except I’m a little clumsy and can’t catch to save my life unless its a bad mood I’m catching). Luckily, most of you have, nor will ever need to see this atrocious handwriting of mine, because I can type. I’m pretty darn good at it too. The thing is about exams is that I have to write. I can’t use my colours, so I can’t bear to read over my writing too much. It’s messy and my hand, having never written this much in its life, feels betrayed and bruised. Except for, wait, that’s not a bruise there, running up the side of my LEFT hand. Nope. That’s a bit of a left-hand struggle, the exam ink.
Aaand that’s a wrap, I hope someone can relate, and it’s not all nonsense with a cherry on top. The cherry on top is that I have three more exams next week. Good luck to me, Goodluck to you.
“This writing is in Spanish when you’re not looking,”
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