A Really Relaxed English Major
It’s a normal Monday afternoon, which means that I’m in my bed watching the fourth episode of the second season of “Friends” for the sixth time. I haven’t left my bed today. I know that I should probably go get my work for the day done, yet all I want to do is lay in bed and muse. I can’t even imagine the stress of whipping out my moleskine notebook and writing a whole haiku- Not to mention the paper that I also have to do. Papers are the second worst thing in the world, right behind tests. When I sit down to write a paper, I set my feet up, grab a pipe, sip on a cup of tea, and allow the creative creations of my mind to throw themselves onto the computer screen before me. The process is absolutely draining. Yet when I have to take a test, it’s as if my mind has been bombarded with information-full missiles that ultimately end up destroying me. Thank God I’m an English major.
As getting myself to leave bed was hard, I decide that I’ll reward myself with some entertainment before writing myself a love letter and doing my work for the evening. I make my way across campus and my fated destination looms before me as I approach. The Science Building. Chills run down my spine, but I remind myself that I am there simply to observe, not to try and be a genius. I slowly enter through a back door, being especially careful to not wake the chemistry major sleeping on the floor in a fatigued heap. I creep down the cold, barren hallway and soon enough I start to hear… it. The guttural moans and pleading cries of the STEM majors. I see a lab down the hallway and slowly approach, ready for the show. I peek through the glass, and there they are. There is blood on the floor and the light is flickering ominously. I’m startled by a thundering crack and as I turn my attention to the far-right corner of the lab, I see a boy clutching his broken wrist as a girl in goggles scampers away with a test tube like a rabid animal. I am terrified, and I can’t close my gaping mouth. So, this is what STEM does to you… I think to myself. When one student collapses from a coffee deficiency I decide that I can’t watch anymore, and I flee that hellish place.
As I leave the Science Building, the sun hits my face and I am glowing. I can feel the appreciation for the humanities seeping out of every pore on my body. I look to the sky and thank God for being an English major. I feel a sense of comfort as I stroll to Hogan, prepared to write myself a beautiful profession of self-love. As I enter Hogan, I walk up the stairs and look for a cushioned seat overlooking the Hoval. I pull a canteen of chamomile tea out of my Fjallraven backpack and unroll a blanket and settle in. I put in my air pods and switch and turn on Bach. Time to get started. Me time then the real work. Right before I begin to grace the keyboard with fingertip kisses, I receive a text. My friend has texted me to tell me how much she appreciated my help on her la b report. I practically wrote it for her considering she’s… well… you know… illiterate. “Girl, your the best!” A devious smirk slowly takes over my face and flames rise up behind me. My eyes turn black. I pose my thumbs over the keys and begin to type. “You’re.”
This article appeared in the annual satire edition of the Spire.