Around the time I was wrapping up my senior year in college, I concocted a brilliant plan.
First, some background. At many liberal arts schools like my own, there is a set of core requirements for courses in several different academic fields. Ostensibly, this is to produce a well-rounded graduate with a firm grounding in the arts, humanities, and sciences. What this really ends up doing, in most cases, is cramping your style by forcing you to mix in a 100-level intro course--completely unrelated to your major or career path--with the rest of your 300- and 400-level courses. I found myself wrapping up my Science II core in 2008. I took the opportunity to sign up for a course on physics of sound, thinking that it might be remotely useful.
This class was the bane of my existence for the entire semester. As the year wound down, I realized that the final was on the very last day of finals week--literally mere hours before our commencement activities started. It would be the last academic item required of me before receiving a degree. However, the terrible placement of the exam ensured that no fun was to be had leading up to it, and that there would be no down time for finals week if I wanted an A.
This is about when I realized that I didn't need an A.
As the month of March gave way to better weather, I went into action. I worked my tail off, completing all assignments and receiving A's on tests, labs, and quizzes. Such dedication and studiousness must have impressed those around me, and I conceivably could have been gaining a reputation as a hard worker. My zeal, however, was not driven by any sense of earnestness.
In fact, my only goal was to finish with a high enough average that my final exam (which would comprise 30% of my grade) would have no bearing on whether I passed or failed. Needing only a D- to satisfy the requirement, I took the low road and aimed for a final meaningless final. As the weeks got closer, I elaborated on my plan. My pipe dream was to show up for the final exam late, ridiculously drunk, and wearing an Alumni t-shirt. I would then proceed to crack open another Keystone Light and use crayons to color on my blue book until it was taken away from me. This would surely secure my status as a legend among the many underclassmen in my course, and I would pass the semester regardless.
Unfortunately, this dynamite moment never came to pass. In lieu of a final exam, group projects were announced. Now I would be tanking the grades of two other fine individuals, as opposed to just my own. It still saddens me that I was unable to pull off such a major coup.
Some might take offense to my disregard for my own well-being in this course. After paying exorbitant tuition for four years, how could I simply throw away one more educational opportunity? The answer to that is a simple one, even if we forget that the curriculum had no bearing whatsoever on anything I have done or ever will be doing.
If I learned one thing at college, it was this: All that one has to do to be fabulously wealthy and successful in life is merely open a liquor store near campus.
First, some background. At many liberal arts schools like my own, there is a set of core requirements for courses in several different academic fields. Ostensibly, this is to produce a well-rounded graduate with a firm grounding in the arts, humanities, and sciences. What this really ends up doing, in most cases, is cramping your style by forcing you to mix in a 100-level intro course--completely unrelated to your major or career path--with the rest of your 300- and 400-level courses. I found myself wrapping up my Science II core in 2008. I took the opportunity to sign up for a course on physics of sound, thinking that it might be remotely useful.
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