U + Me = Us (Calculus)

Today I was sitting in my first class of the day. I was half paying attention and half surfing the internet. I was dreading my following class, Calculus, in which I was going to be getting the results of my first midterm. If anyone knows me at all, they'd know how much I despise Calculus. I absolutely loath it. I've completed 3 classes so far in university, and each one I'm just barely passing. Which is good enough for me. I could care less about Calculus. In fact, after I finished my 3rd course, I thought I was finished. I'd never have to deal with another fucking derivative again. I was gonna stick with courses that I mostly liked and Calculus would just be a rocky, stupid bump in the road that I crossed. Unfortunately, when I was choosing my courses this year I noticed that some courses that I would be taking had a prerequisite of the next level of Calculus then the one I had. I was absolutely livid. I had to endure another semester of this torture? I'm pretty sure I complained for months after I registered.

While I was surfing the web in my Environment Earth class this morning, I thought about what class I needed Calculus for, and I couldn't remember. So, being curious, I logged on to my profile on my school's webpage and looked. I looked through all of my courses for next semester, and I couldn't find anything under those courses that said I needed a prereq of Math 214. So here I am, sitting in a class of 235 people, holding my breath, and trying to stop myself from having a meltdown. All I could think about was how much I hated Calculus and how I can't believe I didn't notice this before the add/drop date. I was going to have to endure another month and a half of a stupid class, that I didn't fucking need. I was ready to shit a brick. I was going to pop a cap in someone's ass. When I was finally forced to breath again, I decided that their must have been a course that I was interested that needed it as a prereq. I wouldn't have just came up with the idea myself. I'm not a sadistic masochist. So, I looked. And low and behold, there was a 300-level course that I was planning to take next year that required it. I breathed a sigh of relief and calmed down. Crisis averted.

Now, it's time for my actual calculus class. My prof walks in with his backpack packed with exams. I'm already feeling nervous. First of all, my class is 70% asian, and second of all I had barely understood the material. So he steps up to the whiteboard and writes down the word mean. Now, I felt lucky that this was my only class not graded on a curve, but also I was dreading knowing the average because I figured I was probably below it. So the average is 26.5/50. 53%. That is barely a D. So I'm sitting here thinking "Oh fuck, there goes my GPA." While he begins passing out the test I'm picking at my cuticles and clenching my jaw. Then he calls my name, mispronouncing my last name, just like every other prof in this school. Benedet isn't French, it's Italian -to. So I get up and grab my test, blackberry in hand, so I am fully prepared to rant at Kylie about Calculus, just like I had in my previous class. So I sit down and flip open my test booklet to the first page, and my jaw drops. There on the sheet, written in red ink, is 37.5/50. I am astonished. 75% on a calc exam? How the fuck did I manage to pull that shit off? I still don't even know. But isn't that ironic? I spend half an hour bitching to my bff about how much I hate Calculus, then half an hour later, I'm smiling in class about the mark I recieved. I am impressed with myself. I am mentally high fiving myself. Well played, Calculus, well played.
-H