My Super Tuesday

Tuesday of this week was not the domain alone of flag-wavers and would-be world leaders. I also had a superlative-laced weekday. Both financially and academically the gods smiled upon me.

Since mid-January I had been shaking in my boots about how exactly I would pay my current housing bill. Living in an Ikea-chic cubicle of student domesticity don't come cheap, people. As my loan refund was woefully anemic compared to last semster's disbursement, homelessness seemed just around the corner. In a last ditch effort to remain firmly rooted in my twin bed haven of academic bliss, I threw myself on the mercy of my department head (sounds obscene, wasn't), knowing full well that any kind of financial assistance from one's school was a fool's idle. Well, truss me up, paint me pink and call me "fool"! I'll be a-gosh darned if that saintly man didn't just come through and assure me that all would be taken care of. Here's how our conversation went:

Me: (squirming uncomfortably) Uh, I need to ask for...well, I'm sure this isn't at all original, see, uh, I'm having a bit of a problem. No doubt you're aware of the dollar's precarious position in the world market right now...uh, there's not anyone else I can really go to...see I'm an orphan, raised in the pool halls and opium dens of...wait, no, that's not it, look, it's just that, well, film production seems so well-funded and I'm just measly old film studies, we don't take up much space, and I need a place to live....(spiraling out of control and reduced to making grunting noises)

Him: (impassively waving his hand, as if at an offending gnat) I need you to stop talking. I will help you.*

The next thing I knew I'd received an email assuring me that not only would my housing bill for this semester be paid, but my summer housing was covered as well.

This manner of university, the kind that helps you when aid is needed, is so foreign to my cynical American heart, I hardly know what to think anymore. Ireland, you are a place of magic and wonder...but your cuisine is still crap.

Academically, I found out that I'm smart, because my grades told me so. I'm not above finding personal validation through standardized education. And since the standards for academic success seem to be higher in this foreign land, I'm going to assume that my Irish B+ (two of them!) is equivalent to an American A+. Smarter back home, but still getting by in Ireland.

Aside from free housing and an increased sense of self-worth, I also received a totally unexpected package from my dear friend and fellow Wodehouse enthusiast, Miss R.H. Horton, of the Winston-Salem Hortons. She rained down upon me such lovely tokens as pajama bottoms and Italian soap.

Could the day have been any more super?

*what he actually said, for real.