Diary of a Drama Queen: Week 1

I was once told that if I failed in life that I should turn to drama because I was most certainly the queen of it.

Well, I did dump a boyfriend when I found out he went out with a girl before me who looked like she’d hit every branch on the way down from the ugly tree. It wasn’t even the classic case of tits like Baywatch but face like Crime watch. It was just man in drag. I was too insulted. How dare he even deign to find that attractive and then be with me? No, he most certainly got the boot.

The back-up plan of sleeping with the tutor (male or female) for a good mark seems to have gone out the window.

This feeling of outrage applies within all my aspects of my life; being a student only heightens it.

The injustices are abundant. Most notably the way we are treated by our superiors.

This week I received an e-mail from a personal tutor, who asked why I hadn’t been in attendance at the tutorial. Had I dropped the course? Well, I only missed one day, so what was with the dramatics? I replied that I had already sent him notification of my absence to which he replied that actually I didn’t appear to be in his class anymore and ‘FYI’, that he had received no e-mail previous to this.

‘FYI’!? Forget being condescending, forget being patronising, and forget what we are used to. This was blatantly rude. I had never met the guy and now he was accusing me of lying and chucking me out of his class!

Of course he was my tutor. He was doing this to aggravate me as I have aggravated him with my absence. Well I wasn’t having this. I pay an extortionate amount of money a year to attend this University; they are funded through my fees, the lecturers work for me! I am effectively paying their wage! And yet we get treated like naughty school children instead of the amazing prospective writers, mathematicians and scientists that are going to be the future.

There I was proclaiming this outside a lecture room to fellow students who couldn’t care less, exposing the audacity of the situation and how I hate the man in question (as in my world there is no room for grey, life only makes sense through love or hate) when the talk of the devil became quite literal. For he so happens to be behind me and he so happens to admit to having made a mistake. Oops. Looks like I’m not getting that first in my essay, and the back-up plan of sleeping with the tutor (male or female) for that aspired mark seems to have gone out the window too.

And to those who judge my ‘Plan B’, don’t blame me, blame American TV. They make one promiscuous night for a degree look like an easy price to pay! But I guess bad luck follows me around like a bad smell. Jeez, some people can’t get a break in life!