The Nature of Registration

I would like to share with you a brief tid-bit about a reoccurring TWAMP phenomenon, only found here at the College.  I suggest you get Planet Earth on the phone.

Registration is a time where everyone is on nerve.  We have all got our claws out, teeth bared, and adrenaline pumping; at any moment, we are all ready to just jump from our chairs and attack each other.  The campus is literally a mega eggshell—one wrong move and you’re done.  Swem becomes a savage jungle, where TWAMPs snatch a desk and computer, and claim it as their own turf.  Marking their territory, some will ward others off with menacing looks, some will establish a fortress with volumes of books and binders, others will stock up for the odyssey and bring along their week’s worth of food.  The fierce elite upperclassmen roam the isles with pride; for they are impervious to the laws of Banner, and they have their classes.

A word of caution: do not approach someone brimmed with mirth because you successfully maneuvered through the trials of the Banner beast, and enrolled in all of the classes you desired because you will suffer an effusive diatribe.  No joke.  You think Ke$ha is an animal, you think she’s a mess—you haven’t seen the TWAMP during registration season.  Proceed with campus with extreme care.

Jokes aside, registration is truly a painful experience—both mentally and emotionally.  I can’t tell you how many times I have felt ecstasy about spring classes, only to have my glee frown and cry due to those who hijacked my desired classes.  I can barely eat, sleep, walk, talk, or even type this entry properly.  I have no intention to take nothing but GERs (General Education Requirements) as a senior, though it would be simple to slip through Banner’s draconian fist with the simple:

Hi Professor, I need an override into your class because I am a senior who suffered Banner-blows from upperclassmen from years past, and your two o’clock section is the only class that fits into my agenda.

Sure I, as well as my colleagues, have back up classes, (please, we are W&M students, we have back ups) but it is infuriating to check up on the status of my desired classes and fall nauseous because they are nearly filled.  I know from experience, however, that within a few weeks post-Banner bombardment, space will magically become available in X class.  And then I—the hawk anxiously waiting—will swoop down and conquer.

Regardless, it is still unnerving, the unknown.  I—and I’ll speak for the rest of my peers, too—enjoy set plans, and set schedules, certainty in general.