Sadly, we had no luck finding it, even after we searched those hidden areas leading to the fourth dimension which are
usually located underneath sofas and/or behind that cabinet you brought with you
from your mom’s place. I came to the conclusion that I had sent out the last copy and hadn't bothered to re-order another. Knowing that our considerate, nearly-3-year-old would
have us up in a few hours, we decided to call it a night and I would go to St.
John’s the next day to request a cop of my transcript.
After getting past the usual 5:30 am wake up call which my
son seems to extract a seemingly Bond-villain like laugh from (no cat though),
I found myself rather zombie-esque-like, driving towards St. John’s. Following the security guard’s
instructions, I parked five miles away from where I needed to go and when I
finally got to the Registrar’s office, I was told that I needed to fill out a
short form, travel through Dante’s Inferno (fitting, seeing as how I was at a
Catholic university), promise my next born to the Student’s Financial Office
and was then instructed to make the trip back up through Hades and present my
receipt to the Registrar’s office.
After they managed to re-re-confirm that I was in fact, the official,
corresponding person who had requested to obtain a copy of my transcripts -
thus thwarting any nefarious terrorist-camp attempt to obtain any knowledge of
my undergraduate Liberal Arts degree information that might seem relevant to
their cause – I finally received confirmation that my transcripts would be
mailed home. I asked if I could
get them right then and there and was told that the best they could do was
overnight them to me and that I would get them by noon the next day. I foolishly queried, “Well if you can
get the transcripts to me by noon tomorrow, and it’s already past noon now,
can’t you just print and hand them to me while I’m here?”
And so I found out, this is how self-flagellation was
born.
In any case, I had to leave empty-handed and so I’m expecting my transcripts by noon
tomorrow. The funny part? After I got home (no small task if
you’re looking for parking in Astoria these days), I laid down in bed to relax for a few minutes and forget about everyone and everything that I had come across or dealt with that morning, and my wife
walked over to me, holding an envelope in her hand. “What’s that?” I asked.
“Your transcripts,” she said. “I just found them on the
floor under our desk.”
I think they made sitcoms like this back in the 70’s.
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