Registration II - The Son of Registration

November 11, 1997

By Morgan Carlson

Well, some of us (i.e., me) have yet to register, but that doesn't mean
I can't write about it, does it? Besides, the last letter didn't
properly accentuate the true terror of registration - the window people
who file your forms. They speak their own language, which can be very
confusing. So, I've provided a little translation guide for you kids at
home:

WINDOW LADY - "Boy, there sure is a long line today, huh?"
TRANSLATION - "Me and the other window harpies thought it was
especially funny when you got stuck behind the talkative computer major
with the mental deficiency."
"So, uh, are you in line too?"
"Believe it or not, yes."
"I like typing out commas."

WL - "There was a sorority girl here before trying to get into the same
class as you. She seemed very friendly."
T - "That sorority fuck-bitch is easier to get into than Nassau Community
College."

WL - "Better clip those forms together, or one might get lost."
T - "I could just take these crucial forms and throw them away. I
pretty much have God-like power. See this rubber stamp? Call it 'Mr.
Stampie' or he'll smite you."
"Yes ma'am."
"Call me 'Your Holiness."

WL - "Oh, Cabinet Making 302! A great class!"
T - "Most of the students in these types of classes have enough
trouble just keeping their fingers out of their mouths."

WL - "There should be plenty of openings for AVF 23 very soon."
T - "You have as much chance getting into this class as Rush Limbaugh
does getting into the Wu-Tang Clan."

WL - "Thank you, and have a nice day."
T - "Your tuition pays for me to be a grumpy file tyrant. God bless
fucking America."

Good luck, kids.
- Morgan -

ecent.