Under Pressure

I hope that the Queen song began playing in your head upon reading the title of this post, as that was actually the intended purpose.

This week is not just any normal week, friends. For many reasons, but the main one being, of course, that it's Finals Week. When Finals hit, life as we know it at Williams comes to a standstill. I swear. It's kind of like how I imagine the day after a Zombie Apocalypse or a nuclear fallout would be. Suddenly, the dining hall is barren at 12:30pm on a weekday, with western music playing in the background and tumbleweeds blowing by, though the place is basically like Grand Central Station every other week at that time. That is, if all the trains suddenly got canceled and people had no place to go.

I just don't understand why people change so much during Finals week. Don't they still need to eat food? ALSO, what happens to clothes during Finals? As in, why are people incapable of wearing them? Williams goes from its usual sea of khaki pantsed, polo-shirted boys and sundressed girls to pajama pants and leggings faster than you can say "Holy butt lumps, Batman."

I don't know about these people, but at least for me, during Finals I still retain my humanity. Well, some semblance of it anyway. I've been known to snarl and snatch that last piece of candy in the libs or shoot daggers at people who order pizza to the libs. (It's distracting!) But it's okay because tonight L. brought me and C. chips and salsa and Ben and Jerry's in the libs since we're both suffering through studying for our Con Law final. But, I digress. It's the hunger talking. During Finals, I still manage to bathe, consume food at socially acceptable hours (and some not ones), and dress myself.

Some other out of the ordinary things happened this week. Last night, for example, Big Relationship came to visit since he's done college (!!!). I'm going to his graduation at Brandeis on Sunday on my way driving home, but for now he's working about 30 mins away for the summer so he came for dinner. (I know, I bet you guys didn't think there was ANYTHING for 30 mins in any direction around Williams. Shocker!) So I cooked dinner for the ex, Big Relationship, and the bf, L., and all L.'s and my friends. This alarms a lot of people, so I've given up trying to explain how this situation is in any way normal. But I think Big Relationship likes L., and L. at least pretends he likes him, and they're both very big part of my lives so they make nice with each other. PLUS, I made the most DELICIOUS orange chicken anyone has ever eaten, which was a really big deal. I barely cook Easy Mac in college because the kitchens are so grody/understocked, so you can imagine how I managed to fry little pieces of chicken and then cover them in a homemade orange sauce reduction. And all I had to do was google "orange chicken recipe like Panda Express." You think I'm joking. The only chinese food within 30 mins of Williams is a restaurant called Chopsticks, which basically serves lumps of crispy batter dunked in syrup and calls them orange chicken.

I spent an hour making dinner for myself and 8 boys, and when I disappeared for a second (to get Big Relationship a beer, no less! The perfect hostess), I came back to discover that the boys had nearly devoured the entire pan of food. Now I know how my mom feels on Thanksgiving. Sigh.

So, let's talk now about the fact that I've been writing out flash cards for the 120 cases I need to know for Friday's exam and my right hand is literally shaking uncontrollably. This blog post is actually painful to write...physically, anyway. I know more about emanations of penumbras of privacy and free speech than anyone really needs to know.

That reminds me of a funny story Prof C. told us in class. If you haven't discovered yet that I'm a little obsessed with Prof C., well, keep up with me. So anyways, Prof C. as you might remember is also a Williams alum, and after he had finished taking Con Law his freshman year, he went home to work at the Gap over Christmas break. If you knew him, you'd understand how funny this is. So anyways, at the Gap, apparently to prevent giant losses of products from people doing sneaky ish, the employees would have to take down names and addresses of people returning things. You get why; people walk in the store, walk out with something, and then bring it back to "return" it and get store credit or, even better/worse, a "refund." So anywhoodle, this ornery man refuses to provide Prof C with his address and name when Prof C. asked, and went on this huge rant about how he had a constitutional right to privacy that protected his giving his information to Gap store employees. This is like, Christmas EVE, keep in mind, and there's a holly-jolly line out the door, but Prof C. decides this is the perfect time to give the man an impassioned and chastising lecture on constitutionally-bestowed rights, and how holding your information from the wonderful employees of Gap is not actually among them. Thinking of 19-year-old Prof C giving this little lecture is heartwarming and cringeworthy at the same time. (For reference, this is a man who waves his pocket Constitution wildly when disagreeing with us in class, jumps on his desk for emphasis, and whenever he quotes John Marshall saying "Remember, this is a Constitution we are expounding!" he emphatically slams his fist down on the table/chalkboard/anything that will make a loud noise on the word "Constitution."

I didn't tell Prof C. that I accidentally stole a belt from the Gap once. That's a funny story too, though now I'm starting to feel guilty blogging when there's cases to be learned. But real quick--in 9th grade I was on a date with my first high school boyfriend, George, and we went belt shopping at the Gap for him. I found this orange and white one that I liked and carried it over to show up up to the front register, where he was already paying for another one, and then we walked out of the store, and it wasn't until we were almost at the car that I realized I was still blatantly holding the belt in my hands, and that I'd totally walked out without realizing, and what's more, without any of the store associates noticing. Then I was too mortified to bring it back, much to my dad's chagrin when I tried to regale my parents with the tale when I got home.

Prof C. wouldn't have let me get away with that.