Okay, seriously, why the fuck is my school so fucking stupid? AAAAARGH! I have spent the last TWO days, waiting and arguing for a grand total of SEVEN HOURS, trying to get them to register me for classes which start in… oh gee, two weeks. The payment deadline is Friday. Granted, I probably shouldn’t have waited until July to get the ball rolling, but hey, I was busy.
So, the world knows I’m on Academic Restriction. I was on Academic Probation, but I already did the math and knew that the next step was Restriction no matter how well I did during the last semester, so I ignored it and finished the year with a bang. Two A’s and a D. I can live with that. Apparently ignoring the problem doesn’t make it go away—or whatever the saying is. So, come the end of the semester—BAM!—I go on restriction LIKE I KNEW I WOULD.
Basically, the minimum requirements for students are a GPA of 2.0 and a completed/registered percentage of 67%. I’m pretty sure I’ve told this story before, but let me share it again. My first year there, I didn’t give a fuck. I wanted a semester off, but no one would agree to it and I was still so confused about the whole situation that I went with it. Hey, they gave me free money! Of course I didn’t take it seriously, and I screwed myself over. I finished the year with a 0.69 GPA and a completed/registered percentage of probably less than thirty percent. I can’t remember, and I don’t feel like doing the math.
Anyway, after that first year I finally put my foot down and took a semester off. In hindsight, I’m glad I did. It was the last semester I had with my mother… ignoring the fact that I worked whenever I could. I had decided to go back the following spring prior to my mother’s hospitalization. The fact that I managed to pass the semester with a 3.67 GPA and one withdrawal with my mother’s death looming in the back of my mind is amazing to me. But I did. And I’ve been doing well since. In the last three semesters, I managed to pull my GPA up to a 2.404 with a completed/registered percentage of 66.4%. I’m 0.6% away from being in good academic standing—would be if my stupid Italian 102 class hadn’t been cancelled last semester. Hell, I should be commended for that; I mean, that’s fucking impressive, if I do say so myself. I literally pulled myself out of the hole I dug—and it was a deep hole. You’d think they’d see that and think, “Oh, she’s a good student. She’s taking this seriously.”
HA! I say. HA.
The aforementioned minimum requirements are reserved specifically for FINANCIAL AID students. I’ve been paying out-of-pocket for the last two years. The fuck? So, all of a sudden, I’m grouped with them and have to live by their standards even though I’m shelling out my OWN hard-earned cash. Not cool, Pima. Not cool.
Back to today. I was placed on Academic Restriction. I had to go talk to a counselor, and they had to remove the hold. Got that taken care of last month. At the end of the meeting, she told me to give it twenty-four hours and I should be able to register. Twenty-four hours passed. I still couldn’t register. Gave it a few days. Nothing changed. So, I called her a week after I had my meeting with her. She never called back. I decided to go in and talk to an advisor yesterday.
I get there at around 11:00am. I expected it to be a long wait for it’s close to the end of the summer, the pay period is ending, et cetera. I just knew it was going to be bad. At around 1:30pm, my name is FINALLY called. Seriously, I think they had three advisors AT MOST going the entire time I was there. So, when the guy who called my name was someone other than the ones I’d seen, I got a little irritated. Where the fuck have you been all day?
Anyway, he pulls me back. His first remark, “Signed-in at 11:06am, and you’re still here. You’ve been here a while!” No shit. I knew I should probably give in and encourage his lame attempt at comedy, but I was seriously beyond caring at that point. I just wanted to register and be on with life.
I explain my situation. The following is an exaggerated account of what happened, but it gets my frustration across nicely:
Me: I’m on academic restriction.
Him: *stares worriedly at student*
Me: I already saw my counselor. She took off the restriction hold and told me I could register the next day. I still can’t register.
Him: Only a counselor can remove a restriction hold. That’s a whole ‘nother level of academic status.
Me: I know. I already met with her. She removed the restriction.
Him: Let me check your account. *pulls up student account* Oh, she already removed it… last month.
Me: *groans* I know! I watched her do it. She verbalized what she wrote for her reasoning.
Him: Okay, so what’s the problem?
Me: I still can’t fucking register!
Him: Okay, let me take a look. *glances intently at computer screen* Says here you still have a hold on your account.
Me: An academic probation one, I know. I’m not on academic probation; I’m on restriction. How the hell do I get that off?
Him: Well, that technically stays on your account until you are in good academic standing.
Me: So… basically, I can’t register?
Me: Then, how the hell do I get in good academic standing if I can’t do anything to improve it?
Him: Well, any time you want to add or drop a class, you have to come and speak to an advisor. We’re basically you’re babysitter, and they want to know your every move.
Are you fucking kidding me? This guy was an idiot, and he treated me like an idiot. He walked me through, step-by-step, looking up classes. Dude, it’s my sixth fucking semester. I’m pretty sure I know how to look up classes. If I didn’t, I’d be royally screwed right now and probably SHOULD be kicked out. Then he tried to figure out what I needed when I couldn’t readily provide classes I wanted to register for. Mind you, he pulled out a transfer guide for the Associates in Liberal Arts for Transfer. My degree is Science. Associates in Science for Transfer. The only kind of science on the Liberal Arts is biology—which, granted, I could go into. But I’m sticking with my atmospheric sciences and geology, which require an Associates in Science. Dumbass.
That was yesterday. Today, I got there a half an hour earlier than I did yesterday. I wanted to get there sooner, but I couldn’t cut work. I guess once I clock in at Sears, they have to pay me for three hours no matter what the time punch says. And then shortly after that, Cheryl responded with, “Well, do what you want. You sound overly stressed.” I ended up working my full four-hour shift. Whatever.
I got there around ten-thirty. The wait time, I was hearing, was over three hours. Awesome—I went and played games on the computer until I got bored of that. Afterwards, I went and took several powernaps in a chair next to a pillar. Very nice. One o’clock comes around and my name gets called. Thank God.
The woman who helped me—I’m not sure if she’s an advisor or just a clerk. She may be an advisor because she was able to do things I don’t think the clerks could. Basically, she was managing the queues and trying to help out as many people as she could. You know, to take down the wait time a bit. So, she calls me over and I explain my situation. I told her that I had talked to an advisor yesterday who said all I needed was for them to register me and life would be good.
Why can’t Pima ever be on the same page with every associate they have?
She just shook her head at me and said, “No, your counselor needs to enroll you.” Then why the fuck did she tell me I could register the day after she removed the restriction hold? She just looked at me, pensive, and then told me to write down my name and student number, and that she’d have her come talk to me. So, wait I did.
An hour later… my counselor comes out. I expect her to call my name. But she doesn’t. She calls someone else. By that point, I’m livid. All I wanted to do was register for a fucking class, and the lab I wanted had ONE spot open. If they made me lose that class, I would murder. So, I glance at the woman who helped me. She was already looking confused back at me. She gets the counselor’s attention. The counselor goes over. They chat. The counselor leaves. The woman calls me over. “Oh, your counselor removed the hold, so you can register now.” Wait, register? You mean, online? “Yes, you can register online.”
So, I walk ten feet to the computer commons to register. I forgot chemistry requires advisor approval to register. SO. I walk back over. “I have another issue I needed addressed…” and I told her. She looked flustered for a minute, but then told me to wait here. I thought she was going to call over an advisor, but she took care of me. I told her I had the paperwork for her, and she said she was just going to give me clearance to register for those classes on my own.
Why the FUCK was that so fucking hard? Oh, my fucking GOD, Pima is made of idiots.
At the end of the day, I managed to get my chemistry class that I wanted. I’m scared. Seriously. I need, like, five tutors just because I’m paranoid. *sighs* Now, if only my math class would open up… damn it.