BCOM = Boring!!

By Isabelle Abraham

It’s Wednesday morning and all I want to do is sleep. So why on earth am I headed towards the Macro Economics class? This is definitely the last place I want to be, considering that I am a Journ student, and have a shockingly low aptitude when it comes to anything maths-related. I told my dear BCOM friend that I’d sit in with her during her lecture, and already I’m regretting it.

Liza greets me outside the class and we walk inside, she strolling and me trudging- delaying the entry. As soon as I enter, my eyes pop. The lecture theatre is big enough to house 410 students, and more than half of them are already seated, which is a WAY better turnout than I can say for Journ. As we start ascending the stairs, I start to feel really self-conscious and I hiss to Liza, “Everyone’s staring at me!” She tries to assure me that it’s just my paranoia acting up, but when I see foreheads crinkle in confusion and eyes narrow in suspicion, I can’t help but cringe. They know I don’t belong here.

I start blushing and a ridiculously nervous grin sits on my face. Just as we are about to sit down, my traitorous feet decide to stumble, but before anything potentially mortifying can happen, my bottom finds the chair. Wow, all that fuss and the lecture hasn’t even started yet.

Then the lecturers walk in- the class has begun. As soon as the woman with the lemon-sucking expression says “all things money”, I know I’m in trouble. Soon, words such as “reserve ratio”, “transmission mechanism” and “ripple effects” start spewing out of her mouth like vomit. This is when I switch off. No way am I listening to that nonsense.

My friend, equally bored, points out all the hot guys who are seated below us. Yes!! We found the optimal view, where we can stare down at all the weird and wonderful people. My journalistic eyes immediately notice the fact that students are socially grouped in class- just like high school. The jocks sit to the left, the brains on the right, and little sets of Barbies are scattered all around. The weirdoes are here too- such as the one down there who yanks at his hair and scrapes his teeth against his file.

I point all this out to Liza and we’re about to giggle when a nosy eavesdropper right below me turns and stares at us. Oops! I’m going have to learn how to be more discreet. I roll my eyes in classic teenager fashion and hey! The lesson is almost over. As we leave the room, I start reflecting. Things gained from this experience: nothing but a page full of my brilliant pencil doodles. Things learned: that B.A. lectures are not as boring as I thought they were.