The worst day ever (UOB student edition)

These are the 24 hours that no UoB student wants, but every UoB student must face. Think of it as a rite of university passage to have a day like this and hopefully you never will again. 

9.30am

It’s a Thursday morning. You have been woken up by the pounding in your head from one too many vodka-squashes last night at sports night; a lethal combination that you cannot seem to resist as soon as a Wednesday night rolls around.

You are brutally reminded that you have a house viewing in approximately 15 minutes (thanks HouseHunt). Three freshers walk in unannounced whilst you scramble to get up. You go to your bathroom and stare at yourself wondering why you didn’t decide to scrub the red face paint off before you got into bed. It was lobsters versus mobsters after all. 

You slink downstairs to find your bin overflowing because your flatmate refuses to take it out. You bite the bullet and do it anyway except when you open your front door, the black bin outside is already overflowing into the streets of Selly. A wave of nausea hits you. 

11am 

You are now dressed with a tinge of red still staining your face but you have a two hour seminar so you trek to campus. The joys of sports night meant you have forgotten to do your seminar prep. In fact, you don’t even know what topic you are covering today. Still, you need that attendance code so you lock in.

You find a seat near the back hoping to hide your hungover disorganised self but get cold called by the professor to answer a question. You can’t possibly turn more red from embarrassment than you already are, so you accept defeat. 

1pm 

The seminar is over. You start to feel relieved when your housemates hits you with the news they are in dire need of a trip to the Bullring and that you must accompany them. Out of guilt and the physical inability to argue with anyone right now, you say yes and make your way to Selly station. 

As you arrive at the station you see the train pulling in. You run across that overpass. Another wave of nausea hits. 

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1.30PM 

You make your train, panting embarrassingly whilst simultaneously trying to keep last night’s VKs down. Your flatmate suggests you get a Wingstop upon arrival. After a ridiculous amount of queuing to place your order, they get it wrong. No Garlic Parmesan wings and no ranch. You let out a sigh of pure exasperation and settle for mild flavoured wings because your stomach is making very loud and very angry noises.  

2pm         

Your flatmate says she just needs to run into Primark and grab something. Being hungover in Primark is not for the weak. The Primark queue to pay is long enough for you to say you’ll wait outside as the heat throughout the shop is unbearable, giving you flashbacks to being pressed against the DJ booth of Joe’s when you can’t quite breathe. 

3pm

After a treacherous afternoon in the Bullring you head back to New Street. Your platform changes from 11 to 12 with one minute till departure. The escalators to 12b are still out of order. More stairs it is. 

You somehow make the train and reach home in one piece. Upon getting home you realise you need to do an Aldi food shop. You get to Aldi and of course, they don’t have the items you need. The queue has reached the milk section. You pay for your measly three items and walk back home where you are greeted by another Council Tax letter. This time they are threatening court action because your housemate forgot to fill out the exemption form. Just what you needed.     

5pm  

You decide to order a takeaway due to the lack of food shop success. This is the only thing that gives you peace all day. You watch a film with your housemates, the hangover subsiding thanks to the Dilshads entering your system. You sigh. Thank god this day is nearly over. 

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