Some say creating the perfect schedule is an art. Erm, I wouldn’t call it an art as much I’d call it an ordeal. You start off thinking you can craft a masterpiece, but just when you’re about done, something doesn’t fit right, and instead of a masterpiece, you end up with a mandatory Friday power lecture in Ag Hall.
The process begins with a look at the DARS report, which happens to be written in hieroglyphics. But fortunately, the ol’ DARS is available in two decodable formats: old-school cryptic and user-friendly 10-page list.
After a close and careful reading of what all I need to take, it’s time to go shopping. Item one on the agenda: courses I need to take to complete my major. Next fall, the discussion for one of my core requirements will meet at—I kid you not; I have a screenshot to back me up—4 a.m.. I sincerely hope Student Center is just being its janky self and that this is a mistake. Otherwise, let’s hope the TA is a morning person?
Once the major requirements are down, it’s time to fill in the holes. And here’s where I, without fail, walk right into the classic schedule trap: the allure of a course offered at the perfect time. It’s held in the early afternoon Tuesday and Thursday. The professor teaching the class is both renowned and beloved, like a really cool grandpa. But for some reason, there’s a ton of open seats. Why? Its location.
Term after term, I have made this schedule blunder, finding myself sprinting down University, leaving a mess of angry bicyclists and (extra) cranky bus drivers in my wake.
One semester, I briefly considered taking a political science course held at the Natatorium. The Nat is not only the last hitching post on campus before a bunch of cow fields, but it’s also an athletic facility, so I couldn’t wrap my head around how a poli sci class had been scheduled in there. Was there not some dingy basement in Humanities open at this time? What about that horrible lecture hall in the chem building where you risk life and limb scaling up to your seat? Would swimming be incorporated into the curriculum?
After enrolling, unenrolling and re-enrolling in said poli sci course, it’s time to shop for some final gen eds. For me, this means science for non-science majors.
Option one: a class where you pet baby farm animals. Possible risk? The class could meet in an unheated barn.
Option two: a course that requires you to spend the semester raising a pet rock. Classes like this aren’t for me. While I would totally get a kick out of raising a rock named Mildred, classes like this pick up halfway through the semester, and my poor performance proves I am, in fact, dumber than a rock.
I guess that leaves the Friday power lecture in Ag Hall….
Do you have a pet rock named Mildred? Maybe she can offer Rachel some schedule advice. Email Rachel about it at rmschulze@dailycardinal.com.
