An Italian Education

I've had a strange day.  I was abducted after lunch by a Spaniard and an Argentine guy who's name I can't pronounce.  They took me to a bar to have coffee and to do something they referred to as "selling each other to women."  I think they wanted to talk to Italian girls and pull the ol' wingman routine with the help of a smiley American, but unfortunately, the girls must have heard we were coming and completely avoided the aforementioned cafe. 

Though there were no females to be had, we found the next best thing: twenty rowdy Italian dudes celebrating the graduation of a friend by making him run shirtless through a gauntlet. We may not have been able to sell each other to women, but the three of us had quite the time drinking coffee and slapping a stranger until his back was red and covered in congratulatory welts.  I am less shocked by the abuse for graduates as I am by the fact that anyone can earn enough credit to reach the gauntlet stage at all. 

Upon returning from Spain, I tried to go to my comparative politics class and couldn't find it anywhere.  This lecture had been an elusive catch to begin with, meeting from 6-8 p.m. on Tuesdays, 11-1 p.m. on Wednesdays, and 9-11 a.m. on Thursdays (how anyone is supposed to make a schedule without classes conflicting is beyond me).  After trying desperately to find comparative politics for a week, even taking extreme measures such as looking for it in different environments, hunting early in the morning, and leaving bait and a rope-trap outside my room, I hung up my safari hat for the weekend and decided I would have to try to tackle my academic prey next week.

When I showed up at the original classroom at 5:45 on Tuesday, I found the door locked and the lights off.  A few students had gathered outside by 6:00 which convinced me to continue to wait and sure enough, at 6:15 a young woman arrived and unlocked the door.  I followed the students inside and took my normal seat in the back, but something seemed different and I couldn't quite put my finger on it. Did the professor get a haircut? New shoes perhaps?  I knew he looked different somehow but...oh I know, he's twenty years younger and a woman now.

When I asked this new professor what happened she gave me a look that said, "who are you?" and I gave her a look that said, "who are you?"  It was awkward.  It turns out that some time during the mysterious week where I lost my class, I also lost a professor, and worst of all I lost an exam, as in I missed it.  There are only two tests during the semester so I thought my chances of passing the only class I need to transfer back to UVM had disappeared faster than an Italian university course.  However, the new professor kindly informed me that the tests are only one option for passing the course.

I will be taking an oral exam on June 3rd...that is, if I can find it.  Wish me luck.