You are suddenly a student. Perhaps you are already a student. Perhaps you were formerly a student. Perhaps you are simply filling out the paperwork for a license of some sort. Either way, you find yourself at a [desk/hard surface] with a [pencil/pen/pen without ink, no!] and a test sheet. And you…
Look at the sheet, and all of the answers come to mind instantly. You and your wonderful memory! You and your resourcefulness and intelligence! You fill in every multiple choice bubble, every short answer question, and write out an essay not only in a structured and timely manner, but with beautiful handwriting. You are fantastic, and everybody hates you.
Look at the sheet, and are momentarily flustered. What is this? This is not what you studied for at all! Looking it over more thoroughly, you realize this is not what you studied for at all. Bringing the test to the front of the room, you explain to the [professor/teacher/adjudicator/human to whom questions must be directed] that you are fairly certain you’re in the wrong room, taking the wrong test. They laugh at you, but with big friendly smiles (that are from laughing at you evilly) they direct you to the next room. Once a fresh and more relevant test is placed in front of you, refer to scenario 1.
Look at the sheet, and are momentarily flustered. What is this? You don’t remember this topic in your studies! Your eyes scroll down and you find some questions you know the answers to. You fill the test out as best you can, and return to the questions you skipped. You make your best estimate. You are fairly certain you’ll pass. You hand it in, not feeling exuberant, but not fingering the cyanide pill in your pocket.
CYANIDE PILL!? The hell are you doing carrying a CYANIDE PILL around with you on a regular basis?! This warrants serious discussion—
Look at the sheet, and are terribly flustered. Poor you, you have test anxiety! It is fairly severe. Your mind goes blank, and your heart races. You chest constricts tightly with breathlessness, heart palpitations and very mischievous ribs. You sweat profusely. Your mind drifts to other places, like the song playing on repeat in your head. It goes, “la la la la la, you’re going to fail.” Why is that song on your playlist of inspirational songs?! It is exactly the opposite of what you need to hear!
But, you take deep breaths, you collect yourself, and you start answering the easiest questions. And as you are able to calm yourself, you answer the rest. And somehow, you manage to pull yourself through this, perhaps not to the best of your abilities, but as far as you can go while you’re choking on your own fear. Poor you.
Look at the sheet, and are terribly flustered. All of the questions are written in blood. Horrified, you look up and see your parents glaring disapprovingly at you. You look to your right and the Simpsons are sitting there. Yes, the cartoon figures. You are confused, the test is gone and there is a cake on your desk instead. Oh no, your diet! You find yourself naked save for your underwear. Your absolute worst pair. You are terribly embarrassed that they are so tattered. Why do you even keep this pair?! You’ve always been terrified that one day, one day while wearing this pair, that would be the day your clothes come off for whatever reason and everyone would see these bunchy, torn, hideous things. Why?! Why?!
You wake up. You are wearing those underwear. Other than that there is no relation to a horror movie.
Look at the sheet, and are feeling uneasy. You look down and you are BACK IN THOSE BUNCHY, TORN UNDERWEAR! NO!
You wake up, and you are wearing much nicer underwear. You are also late for your test. YA BURNT!!
Look at the sheet, and you feel very grim. You did not study at all. You wager your best guesses. You may very well fail. This is what you get for ignoring your studies. How could you think a class called “Contemporary Thoughts About Penguin Slippers And How Adorable They Are” would be anything less than complicated, research-heavy and necessary?
Look at the sheet. Start screaming incoherently. Fold it into a paper airplane, toss it toward the front of the room and go barrelling out of the class. You are in your underwear again. This is not a dream. I think you might be a little bit out of your head today.
Look at the sheet. Fill it out. However you usually do. The point is that we all are tested in life.
“How is THAT the point?” you snarl, still in your underwear.
“DON’T TEST ME,” I roar.