Matriculation

Now, let's start with the word. "Matriculation." I think it sounds like an unsavoury bodily function. My brother thinks it sounds like a stage of pregnancy. Wikipedia thinks it sounds like it should have a picture of Oxford's matriculation on its entry for "matriculation."

Crap, I've said "matriculation" so many times it's ceased to hold any meaning.

Matriculation.

ANYWAY... it was about as messy as one would hope. I stood on like three different lines queues looking for registration (one of the lines was undergraduate registration, one was a line for coffee, and one wasn't even an actual line - I just kind of stood behind some people who looked like they might have been in a line).

There was a line for individual portraits that was a mile long, but at some point a guy got on a megaphone and told everyone (all 200ish of us) to line up in height order for the group photo.

It was like trying to herd kittens.

So after like an hour of getting yelled at, we ended up on bleachers reminiscent of Catholic-school choir that I was pretty sure were going to collapse under our weight.

We got our pictures taken, had to go to the hall to FINALLY register, and then get back on line for individual portraits. All of this was going on outside where it was freezing (but sunny). After pictures, we all piled into the hall where we were told that we were going to walk in a group to the theater where the actual matriculation was (about a mile into town).

Now, not only did we look like a Harry Potter convention walking in a group in our robes (to be fair, the locals are PROBABLY pretty used to this by now), but about halfway through the walk it began to hail.

Torrentially.

Painfully.

I was wearing a white blouse and it was soaked and stuck to me (and not in a sexy way!). My shoes were filled with water and hailstones.

Technically you're not supposed to wear your mortarboard until after you graduate, but we all put them on to try and get some protection from the rain.

Since you're not allowed to bring bags into the theater (hence my makeshift pocket that all of the other girls were SO JEALOUS of) nobody had umbrellas, except for a few dudes who had decided that it was worth risking "is that an umbrella in your pocket?" jokes for dry hair.

We FINALLY got to the theater where it was not hailing or raining (that is literally a picture of the sky as we milled about), and all of the other college groups lined up were all dry-looking. We stood out there for a while, waiting for the previous group's matriculation to end, then piled into the theater, where we were informed that at the end of matriculation there would be a fire drill, so look for the emergency exits.

We were spoken to in Latin.

The vice-chancellor talked for twenty minutes, exhorting us to take full advantage of this great opportunity.

The fire alarm rang, and we evacuated.

Thus,

I matriculated.