SAT

SAT. Must I say more? I must, because if I didn’t the hypothetical question would be weird and I would be slandering my reputation. Just saying it makes me feel so college-ish “SAT SAT SAT” ps (princess sparkle) mutters to herself with a smile. I should be sitting in some poetry reading and snapping softly in one hand while casually sipping on cheap coffee.

But unfortunately my hopes of Starbucks and poetry did not come true. Instead, I was embraced with purse-whacking, “My kid is a genius” bumper sticker-sticking, class schedule changing mothers and their children who cower in fear at such a large collection of moms like theirs.My father and I were baffled by the swarming crowd of honors students. We scuttle away to my testing room where a class full of horrified children sat, number two pencils in their shaking hands. My father leaves, might as well be leaving me with a pride of lions. I extend my quivering hand to the test monitor holding my photo id- my passport. The smiling about to go to France me stares up at the man. If I had known at that time what evil process I would have to endure with it I would have cried for that picture.

The children filed in in the same terrified fashion I did; mothers asking questions that aggravated the testing easily aggravated guy. The test guy who never offered us his name was shorter than my proud 5’3’’. His eyebrow(s?) covered most of his eyes which were magnified by his glasses that were those that any archetypal nerd or 80s dweller would be proud to wear, making him look like he has two large brown but graying parasites for eyes.I slid in to the nearest desk so I would have an escape route. Mr. Parasite was naming off names alphabetically and pointing to desks for each name. When my name came along he pointed to the cobwebbiest corner to ever befoul itself upon mankind. I felt like I was Scrooge watching the ghost of Christmas future point to his grave when I looked at his pudgy hand sticking out of his formal blue collard long sleeved shirt. Eventually the whole room was filled“If anybody is left-handed will you like to sit in the left hand desk?” boomed Mr. Parasite in a surprisingly masculine voice. I was surprised he would be so considerate but then I glanced at “the” left hand desk which was in the evil unkept corner adjacent to my evil unkept corner.

He droned on the SAT tester script and informed us the usual “How to correctly fill in an answer choice” drill that we will learn and have learned ever school day of our lives. They don’t even allow us to call them bubbles: that would be letting us have way too much fun.

We filled our names and other information that I wonder what use they will ever have for.We started the test and the clock ticked louder that any other. The blank white walls suddenly became interesting and the paper on my desk was like a speck of dust. I looked around at all the other children who were hunched over their test in deep concentration. I noticed Mr. Parasite was writing on something using his left hand periodically looking at his stopwatch he set to decimate in 25 minutes. My comfy sweat shirt that doubled as a blanket made me scorching though it was room temperature just moments ago.

I was panicking.

Between each section we had 10 minute breaks where we went out into the hall and ate Cheese Nips. These were awkward occasions where we were monitored by another test monitor person because we were not aloud to talk. I was the only girl who did not bring a Vera Bradley lunchbox to cradle her delicate cheese nips. This did not bother me I was proud of my bag but the uniform-ness just annoyed me.

Now, that it is over all I have to say for the acronym is:

SAT…bleh.