'Til Daddy Takes the T-bird Away

I never thought summer school was a bad idea until I was faced with the possibility of having to go to summer school.  The idea is good: Get crap done during the summer with classes that are readily accessible and then you won’t have to take them during college.  I bought into this idea and took a little jaunt down to the ol’ town college to see what I could see.  Turns out my town is more backwards than I had originally thought (and yes, I use what happens at the community college as a basis of how my entire town acts and reacts).  I needed some Spanish.  Simple old Spanish.  But Spanish isn’t so simple; apparently you need seven hours a day of the language for a month before you are able to pass the class.  All of that adds up to be a wasted summer.  A summer full of clouds and rainbows made of black gradients and ice cream trucks that only have ice cream sandwiches.  Maybe I want the sun, or Roy G. Biv, or a push-up pop.  According to the college, I can’t have these things; but I can have a big paper sack full of crap, otherwise known as Spanish 1 at the local learnin’ hole.  When asked about whether or not I could still sign up for the class, the reply came back as a jovial, “Yeah, not many people are enrolled.”  Well no crap.  With hours like they’re talking about I wouldn’t imagine many people coming in and getting excited for all of hours they get to sit in a classroom, twiddle their thumbs, and curse at the teacher in both English and Spanish.  Maybe, just maybe, they could reconfigure their schedule so they could fit in some time for me to NOT BE IN FREAKING SPANISH CLASS.  Of course, this won’t happen anytime soon, and it really shouldn’t, because I’m not taking the stupid class anyway.  Best of luck, crappy community college; the ball is in your court now.