Raising Eyebrows: A column on culture, fashion and life
by SANA AZAMI
This article originally appeared in The Tiger on April 25, 2014 | PRINT

You can taste it . . . literally. The tension, ramen fumes and B.O. have merged together to create a muggy toxic wasteland of scholastic pressure points all over campus. They call it finals-itis. Many have been infected, and from this virus mutant breeds of students are popping up everywhere you look. No one is safe. The following is a mere sampling of the genetically altered beings:

1. The Phantom

An outlet, a window and an unoccupied spinny chair. Can it be? Have you found the One? A unicorn in a library of broken mules. Alas, a solemn backpack marks territory and you, the hunter, draw back to lick your wounds elsewhere. You’ll share answers on a take home test, but this is too sacred a pact. Two hours later, after a much needed bathroom break, you loop back around, glancing about for a more secure encampment, you pass the coveted chair once more only to find it empty again . . . *cue creepy laughter*

2. The Diva

Finals week has wrought havoc on the delicate tendencies of this particular species, and, like a Shakespearean death scene, they just won’t shut up about it. They are often seen with books and pens propped about in a dramatic interpretation of a natural disaster. They claim to be indisposed and very terribly busy, but with the furious amount of frantic calls and live time Twitter updates, is it any wonder they can’t keep up with their study schedule?

3. The Resurrected

Here they come, sauntering over like they have all the time in the world. The following is a transcript of documented interaction with this particular species: Hey, you. I know, it has been forever, hasn’t it? In fact, it’s been so long, I don’t think I have ever met you before. Oh . . . You were here for syllabus week. Fine, fine. Sorry, I will not offer you my notes. I can’t really; my computer fried and they were all destroyed. Sheesh.

4. The Basilisk Victim

This will be the fourth time you have looked up in an hour, and you swear that he hasn’t moved. His eyes are open, but is he even breathing? Would he fall if I poked him? Maybe he overdosed on caffeine and went into shock. Maybe he’s dead. That’d be awful. If it turns out that he is dead and I was the one who found him, is there some sort of clause I can claim to exempt finals? If Dumbledore ran the place we could all exempt finals ...

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