The Tumult of the Time Disconsolate

there is purgatory. and then there is hell.

purgatory is the student health center line and waiting for 3 and a half hours to gain even the simplest of understandings as to why an infernal medical hold has been misplaced on my student account, preventing me from registering. purgatory is the 45 dollar parking ticket surely awaiting me on my return to my lovely nissan, earned because to leave the health center, thereby losing both my place in line and my ability to re-enter the building again today, was a fate I was not quite ready to face. purgatory is the hu beauracracy, beating down we humble and humiliated students, year after year after year after year. purgatory is the bullshit forms. bullshit lines. bullshit shots. and bullshit people in lab coats who clearly have no reasonable business interacting with the public. purgatory is a tuberculosis scare, and expired tests.

hell is bonita perry, who drove all the way from mobile alabama (she says) to atlanta, whereupon she took a flight to dc to share her words with us in line, to talk and talk, about absolutely nothing of any worth or substance. with her spellman t-shirt, her 44 years of life, her 4th from the bottom of page 8. and no, you cannot film us for your home viewing enjoyment, miss perry.

and I promise you, purgatory ain’t got shit on hell.

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