CRA-A-ACK! The bureaucratic whip snaps at my feet. Wrong, says the ringmaster, in this case the Dean of Counselors, you need Credit by Examination. I blink, confused. But that's what I said, I reply with as much diffidence as I can muster.

CRA-A-ACK! No, you didn't! You don't want to test out, you want to get credit without taking the course. The Dean gives me a piercing glare like a bird of prey. What you want is to take the final without taking the class itself.

These seem like the same thing to me. Clearly not, though. Fine, I say with all the charm left at the end of a long day, where do I sign up? I am informed that I need to speak to the Dean of Language Arts, who quite naturally won't be around until college actually starts on Monday because it isn't possible that anyone would want to get something done in advance.

Well, thank you very much, I say with true sincerity, I'll just see her next...

CRA-A-ACK! Dean Hughes looks at me again and asks wearily if I've had my records examined by a counselor. Oh yes, I say eagerly, I have, and I pull out my marked up list of requirements. Pop! Through the first hoop. I produce a name: Mark, the granola and Tevas chap I saw last fall. The Dean looks it over. No good, she pronounces, you must have your records reviewed by Admissions.

But I'm admitted, I say feebly, I want to graduate. Wrong! No! Bad dog! I must make an appointment with a different kind of counselor, one who can cope with the almost unimaginably exotic situation where a student has acquired many of her credits at an out of state university. A regular counselor cannot, apparently, deduce the special needs of special people like me. I'm sensing a bad trend.

You might not, she says, have enough credits to graduate. Or the right kind of credits. Or you might need some important faculty person to swear, witness, testify and generally say yup, your credits transfer. It is not clear that you have the requirements for both English 100 and English 800. English 800 precedes English 100 for no reason known to intelligent life. Getting credit for one is not enough. You will have to see the special counselors at Admissions. But not next week. Next week school opens and they will be busy.

I suppress my sarcasm, nearly bursting an internal organ in the process.

Very well, I say politely, then assure me I will not miss any deadlines for graduation by waiting two weeks to have my records examined for specialness using black light, augurs, palm readers, and blind men from Samaria.

The Dean looks uncertain. I don't know about that, she says. Just talk to the other Dean and then make sure you get seen by Admissions as soon as possible. Only not next week as we're very busy with students.

I give her the bird of prey stare. New students, she amends, brand shiny new clueless students who take up lots and lots of time. Oh, just sign up whenever you want. But don't be too sure that you're actually graduating this term. Because you might not have met some completely lame-ass requirement that we don't allow out of state credits to cover even though they're the exact same thing but we don't like the title they used.

I look at her with intelligence and troublemaking positively shining in my face. Argh, she says, although it actually sounds like a sigh. Look, it's 7pm and we're closed. Here's my phone number. Call me next week, says the Dean, and I'll make sure you get the appointment. Higher, girl, higher. You can do it!

Pop! Through the second hoop. The whip is put away for now. I go buy my piano workbook before the bookstore closes and drive home through the shreds of fog obscuring the lonely moors and unoccupied parking lots of Wuthering Heights Community College. Might not graduate my ass. I'll be making that appointment first thing Monday morning.

Arf.

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