Cora Contrabida: An Epilogue

By Cora Contrabida
April 24, 2012, 2:05 pm

It’s nearly that time of year again when our sleeping schedule becomes more messed up than usual—when we get to relish extra hours of sleep in the morning and enjoy additional hours of guiltless movie marathons or series catch-ups at night.

 

I’m absolutely ready to soak up that happy summer feeling, but the two month of peace over the break will make me miss a lot of school.

 

On top of everything, my Sendong-survivor leather bag will miss getting poked by security wands. By “poke” it doesn’t only mean the physical act of prodding the stick into my bag. In all my years in XU, I’ve never questioned the ability of a half-hearted bag raid to guarantee my security within campus. Sometimes, though, I feel like I’d be more efficient at it, what with my expertise at digging cereal boxes in search of that limited edition freebie. But as I actually subscribe to optimism, I am determined that that simple wooden device (a distant relative of the glass one library personnel use to check your bag for… wait, what exactly are these checks for again?) contain sensors of sorts and a mini surveillance camera linked to the security headquarters that keeps tabs on your bag’s contents. They never told you about it because it’s part of the whole secret-intelligence agency thing.

 

Okay, so maybe I’ve just taken too many spy movies in the head. Or I probably just spent too many hours daydreaming in the library.

 

Nah.

 

I would never put daydreaming and library together in a sentence. There are people like me who actually like to spend library hours studying. Then there are those people. Seriously guys, I wonder how you manage to sleep using your arms as makeshift pillows. It’s kinda funny watching you when you wake up and your foreheads have turned blaring red.

 

I feel bad for the freshmen who need to finish up lab reports. It’s sad watching them retreat at the sight of a populated library and resort to sitting side by side on the SC or Aggies stairs, exchanging notes. But it’s even worse on my part. I had to risk my life for them sometimes. I had to go around them like I would in a maze, careful not to step on their things and disturb them when they’re already too busy to even respond to “Excuse me”.

 

What this school year has taught me more than anything is to be patient. But with people who don’t understand the meaning of “excuse me”, I can’t even. Right now I’m not sure if those words still mean anything anymore.

 

Honestly, I’m good with faces. That’s why I could never forget those people who keep bumping into me in the hallways as if I’m a bit short of visibility. I may be wearing glasses, but at least I’m not that blind. I’m not even blind enough to notice that there’s a trash bin in the library labeled “cartoon”. I don’t suppose that’s the designated bin to throw away our childhood.

 

Going back to the hallways, there are just some people who couldn’t take a hint. When I say “Excuse me,” is it really that impossible to hear me over the sound of how annoying you are? Do you guys really have to take up so much space when you’re walking? It’s excruciatingly difficult to overtake. It’d be a miracle if there’s the slightest opening.

 

How about not walking together like a big cabinet or the flipping Great Wall of China? You’d be doing everyone a deed so great you’d qualify for a Nobel Peace Prize. You get props for getting me more marks for tardiness than I actually deserve. I wonder if your brains work as slow as you guys walk.

 

On a brighter note, this is just me saying I will miss all of you guys over the summer break. My days will never be the same without the ones who make college worth writing about. Unless you’re graduating (in that case, congratulations!), I’m already excited to see you next school year. This will be the last for now. Until such time keep calm and prepare for Cora’s return. C

Other Lampoon
By Cora Contrabida March 1, 2012, 8:50 pm
By Cora Contrabida January 30, 2012, 7:00 am
By Cora Contrabida August 2, 2011, 4:00 pm