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Part of my role as Senior Undersecretary to the Dean of Fire Breathing, is that I generally get to be the mean and bossy one in the office who tells our adorable, sweet pony students unpleasant things, like ‘No, you can’t get credit for that short course you did in Gluing Stuff to Other Stuff’, or ‘Unfortunately the Advanced Flower Pressing class is oversubscribed and you have been placed on a waiting list, in which you are placed 99 of 137’, or even ‘Yes, the fees have increased from one thousand butterfly dollars to three thousand butterfly dollars, and this is because the fee grandfathering arrangements for your Master of Sparkly Rainbow Farts expired last year and you have been too slack in getting your arse to the finish line before that happened’.
Sometimes I get angry ponies, and those are my absolute favourite. Angry ponies often start out as stupid ponies, who become angry once their stupidity has gotten them into a bit of manure. Outraged ponies with nostrils a flare, tails twitching, stomping unhappily, demanding to speak with someone of more authority – nothing makes me happier. I have almost every word of policy memorised, and my communications are as watertight as a mermaid’s arsehole.
Take the stallion who recently missed his exam for Sugar Cube Management; I phoned him up immediately after the exam when the invigilator told me he had not attended, and asked him why he didn’t come. His answer? The exam was scheduled for the 4th, and he did not realise TODAY was the 4th, he was certain tomorrow would be the 4th...but alas, upon consulting a calendar, he conceded that today was in fact the 4th, and tomorrow would be the 5th, and therefore not the 4th. His request for Special Consideration based upon his inability to keep track of the current date was declined, and he subsequently failed Sugar Cube Management. This is where the stupidity gave rise to abject fury, and shouting, and threats to find me and stomp me to death under carefully shod pony hooves. My terrible smile only grew wider and more filled with sharp teeth the more viciously he whinnied, and my voice more calm, and frankly, dangerous, as I reminded him of policy, and recited the dates and times which we had emailed him to advise him of the examination timetable. What angry, and stupid, ponies seem to forget is that if they are not entitled to Special Consideration under formal academic policy, their only option is to lodge an appeal, which is unlikely to go anywhere without the support of, oh, I don’t know...the Senior Undersecretary to the Dean of Fire Breathing? Because if they were entitled, they would have been granted their exemption, or whatever, in the first place. So threatening to trample me to death is not in their best interests, but does make for a great deal of gleeful entertainment on my behalf.
I’ll admit, this makes me sound sadistic, or at the very least really, really mean. But thems the breaks. The Faculty of Dandelions has a very high reputation to uphold in the Fairyland community, the South Pacific Goblin region in particular, and therefore stupidity on behalf of the ponies we have accepted into our programmes will not be tolerated. If they want to get a Master of Sparkly Rainbow Farts from another university in the South Pacific Goblin region of a lower rank than we are, they are at liberty to go ahead and do so. Perhaps the University of Special Snowflakes will let it slide when you forget to attend an exam. Don’t let the barn door hit you on the flank on the way out.
But this is not the tail (see what I did there?) I intended to tell you when I began this post. Truth be told, I have spent so long on my tangent, that I’ve forgotten what my original point was. Rest assured, I will come back and tell you ALL about it if I remember what it was. For now, I have a New York baked cheesecake in my possession and a powerful desire to eat the entire thing straight from the box using the only implement I have at my disposal, which happens to be an extra spoon I got when I had Thai at lunch today.
Sometimes I get angry ponies, and those are my absolute favourite. Angry ponies often start out as stupid ponies, who become angry once their stupidity has gotten them into a bit of manure. Outraged ponies with nostrils a flare, tails twitching, stomping unhappily, demanding to speak with someone of more authority – nothing makes me happier. I have almost every word of policy memorised, and my communications are as watertight as a mermaid’s arsehole.
Take the stallion who recently missed his exam for Sugar Cube Management; I phoned him up immediately after the exam when the invigilator told me he had not attended, and asked him why he didn’t come. His answer? The exam was scheduled for the 4th, and he did not realise TODAY was the 4th, he was certain tomorrow would be the 4th...but alas, upon consulting a calendar, he conceded that today was in fact the 4th, and tomorrow would be the 5th, and therefore not the 4th. His request for Special Consideration based upon his inability to keep track of the current date was declined, and he subsequently failed Sugar Cube Management. This is where the stupidity gave rise to abject fury, and shouting, and threats to find me and stomp me to death under carefully shod pony hooves. My terrible smile only grew wider and more filled with sharp teeth the more viciously he whinnied, and my voice more calm, and frankly, dangerous, as I reminded him of policy, and recited the dates and times which we had emailed him to advise him of the examination timetable. What angry, and stupid, ponies seem to forget is that if they are not entitled to Special Consideration under formal academic policy, their only option is to lodge an appeal, which is unlikely to go anywhere without the support of, oh, I don’t know...the Senior Undersecretary to the Dean of Fire Breathing? Because if they were entitled, they would have been granted their exemption, or whatever, in the first place. So threatening to trample me to death is not in their best interests, but does make for a great deal of gleeful entertainment on my behalf.
I’ll admit, this makes me sound sadistic, or at the very least really, really mean. But thems the breaks. The Faculty of Dandelions has a very high reputation to uphold in the Fairyland community, the South Pacific Goblin region in particular, and therefore stupidity on behalf of the ponies we have accepted into our programmes will not be tolerated. If they want to get a Master of Sparkly Rainbow Farts from another university in the South Pacific Goblin region of a lower rank than we are, they are at liberty to go ahead and do so. Perhaps the University of Special Snowflakes will let it slide when you forget to attend an exam. Don’t let the barn door hit you on the flank on the way out.
But this is not the tail (see what I did there?) I intended to tell you when I began this post. Truth be told, I have spent so long on my tangent, that I’ve forgotten what my original point was. Rest assured, I will come back and tell you ALL about it if I remember what it was. For now, I have a New York baked cheesecake in my possession and a powerful desire to eat the entire thing straight from the box using the only implement I have at my disposal, which happens to be an extra spoon I got when I had Thai at lunch today.
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