Let’s Talk Testing
So, I took my AP exam.
And I’ve been sworn to secrecy. Which means that I can’t talk about what was in the test– free response in forty-eight hours, multiple choice in– well, ever. Which means I won’t talk about that.
But I can tell you that it was hard as hell. And I can also describe the AWFUL experience I had.
So, I bought, like, sixty pens for this event. I brought all of them with me, and all of my friends told me to bring, I dunno, three to use. ”No way you’ll have three BRAND SPANKIN’ NEW pens that won’t work.”
Harr, harr.
Can you guess how many of those pens didn’t work. ALL FUCKIN’ THREE!
No kidding, right? I was pissed.
So, we’re about to start the exam, we’ve got all of our shrink-wrapped crap in front of us. These huge, I mean, ENORMOUS palmetto bug crawls out from God-knows where, and starts crawling toward us. Seriously, it was big enough to eat any one of us, and our desks, and then our papers. And still want more.
It was huge.
So, one of the dudes gets up, stomps on it, kicks its twitching, gooey corpse out of the way, and sits back down. He’s a God, right? Yeah. Crisis averted, right?
Of course not.
No, here comes ANOTHER ONE. Obviously, the baby of the other one– because it was half the size, and it starts stomping over like it’s got balls, or something, and it wants us to eat them. Someone kicked it, and it literally rolled over and died. There are two giant bug corpses within twenty feet of my desk, which sends me into a PANIC.
Oh mah lawd, I thought I was going to die.
So, I’m writing my first essay about– ha, ha. You thought you got me there.
So, I’m on the seventh or eighth paragraph. Oh no, guys, guess what? I misread the question. Nyuck, nyuck, nyuck.
I give up. I move onto the next essay. I write that one, then the last one. I go back to the first, and I erase it (good thing my pens that don’t work are eraseable) and I start over. Alright, second try.
The essay has a length of-next-to-nothing by AP standards. I’ve almost run out of time.
So, let’s review.
My pens don’t work. I’ve seen TWO, count ‘em, TWO ginormous bugs, and still haven’t gathered the courage to put my feet on the floor. I’ve written an essay that doesn’t relate to the question. My pen is smearing because I’ve got the dreadful luck of being left handed. My left hand has more ink on it than the paper.
Finally, I put my feet on the floor, they’re about to call time. Oh, my God. The scariest thing I’ve ever seen in my life crawls out from under the bleachers. It’s the ugly cricket-monster from hell (I later found out that it was a mole cricket, harmless name for a CREATURE OF SATAN). I pick my feet back up, and try to finish my essay while trying to warn the people around me with jerky eye movements. They must think I’m seizing.
They call time.
I’m not satisfied with my first essay.
I now realize that it is now one o’clock, and I asked to be picked up at twelve.
Walking from testing sight to parking lot, I’ve received twelve texts that say “WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU?!!!”
Good stuff.
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