Addendum
The coup de grace pertaining to my prior blog would be that I successfully managed to entirely miss my first Taxation class. Absolutely. Yes, I registered for the class and lo I saw that the class would be held at 4pm on Wednesdays. And yet, somewhere between my utter exuberance of finishing Auditing and my feisty travels throughout Toronto I managed to convince myself that I was to attend class at 7pm instead.
Walking into the (wrong) class I remember being somewhat surprised at my fellow students. They did not look like accountants. They did not have that weary-yet-trying-to-appear-upbeat look upon their faces. Instead they were relaxed, fresh faced: clearly all wrong. Nevertheless I sat. And began to ponder why their books were so, so miniscule compared the heft of my two compositions. And why theirs were green. After a while I turned to the girl behind me and ascertained that she was there to learn Macroeconomics. Ah, Macro… producing and trading guns and butter, those were the days.
At this point I still felt that I was in possession of my faculties, and that, clearly, one of two things had happened: a) all of these students were in the wrong classroom or b) my class had been moved elsewhere. I lugged my pack to a nearby computer, logged on and discovered that no, Room 1330 was correct. Perplexed, I scowled at the monitor, unsure where the flaw was, where I should lay blame. I double checked the day, yes, my class was on Wednesdays. And then I saw it: 4pm. Not 7pm. Three hours earlier. I had completely missed my first Taxation class. Unsure whether to laugh, cry or attend Macroeconomics for fun, I hightailed it for the door to catch the 7:15 bus home, having just spent $3.25 and an hour of my time aboard the fine #480 from downtown Vancouver to Richmond.
My subsequent conversation with Michael, explaining why I was home at 7:45, was a fun one, punctuated with him shooting quick, furtive glances in my direction as though trying to discern if he could visibly witness my GPA slowly falling. Fun also was the conversation I had with my boss whereby she asked how my first taste of tax was and I told her I really wouldn’t know.
And so ends my story, leaving me behind schedule and with a copious amount of meal replacement bars, purchased to substitute the dinner that I thought I would be missing between 7 and 10pm on Wednesdays. They’re quite good actually. I recommend the double chocolate varietal.
Walking into the (wrong) class I remember being somewhat surprised at my fellow students. They did not look like accountants. They did not have that weary-yet-trying-to-appear-upbeat look upon their faces. Instead they were relaxed, fresh faced: clearly all wrong. Nevertheless I sat. And began to ponder why their books were so, so miniscule compared the heft of my two compositions. And why theirs were green. After a while I turned to the girl behind me and ascertained that she was there to learn Macroeconomics. Ah, Macro… producing and trading guns and butter, those were the days.
At this point I still felt that I was in possession of my faculties, and that, clearly, one of two things had happened: a) all of these students were in the wrong classroom or b) my class had been moved elsewhere. I lugged my pack to a nearby computer, logged on and discovered that no, Room 1330 was correct. Perplexed, I scowled at the monitor, unsure where the flaw was, where I should lay blame. I double checked the day, yes, my class was on Wednesdays. And then I saw it: 4pm. Not 7pm. Three hours earlier. I had completely missed my first Taxation class. Unsure whether to laugh, cry or attend Macroeconomics for fun, I hightailed it for the door to catch the 7:15 bus home, having just spent $3.25 and an hour of my time aboard the fine #480 from downtown Vancouver to Richmond.
My subsequent conversation with Michael, explaining why I was home at 7:45, was a fun one, punctuated with him shooting quick, furtive glances in my direction as though trying to discern if he could visibly witness my GPA slowly falling. Fun also was the conversation I had with my boss whereby she asked how my first taste of tax was and I told her I really wouldn’t know.
And so ends my story, leaving me behind schedule and with a copious amount of meal replacement bars, purchased to substitute the dinner that I thought I would be missing between 7 and 10pm on Wednesdays. They’re quite good actually. I recommend the double chocolate varietal.
posted by Duder at 12:07 PM
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