Why I Hate Nerds- Part II

Since I'm just warming up on the subject of nerds, it's tough to sift through memories of all of my encounters with them. Tougher to come up with the retardest ones. Anyway, another reason why I hate nerds will be illustrated by the following story:

It was a fine February morning, and the weather of Karachi was crisp and cold. Our last exam had ended, and a friend of mine was giving me a ride back home. Friend and her Mom were in front; Friend's Mom was driving. The car swished through the dry air, and I clutched at the car seat uncomfortably. The reason for my discomfort was the fact that I wasn't alone in the back of the car- I was smushed together with three other people. Little Nerd, Paindu Nerd and Non-nerdy Guy.

Paindu is a difficult word to describe. For me, it just doesn't stand for someone who wears loud colours or has a retarded fashion sense. Rather, it denotes an unrefined way of life, attitude and mannerisms. In that twenty minute car ride, Paindu Nerd pretty much summed herself as all of the abovementioned characteristics.

PN, like Uber Nerd, also has a tremendously high GPA, Mashallah sae. However, it is sad to see that this high GPA has not translated itself from grades to 'education', for want of a better word. PN was high after having aced the exam (in her opinion) and couldn't stop blabbering about it. Her incessant stream of blathering had commenced from the lobby, till the parking lot, getting seated in the car, and was still on.

'LN, what did you write for the answers to Questions 1 and 2?' piped up PN in an extra high-pitched voice. That's another annoying thing about nerds- they like to recite each and every word they've penned down in an exam. Like people dissecting every detail of a cricket match after the game, multiplied by a million times mundane.

'I wrote about the Utilitarian Theory, the Rights Theory and the Justice Theory,' LN announced triumphantly.

PN, not wanting to be outdone, spoke up again 'Oh, but I also wrote about the Care Theory,' and beamed around as if expecting us to applause.

LN looked downcast. I was least bothered, since I didn't have the same teacher as they did, and yawned. Non-nerdy Guy, obviously bored, looked out of the window.

However, PN would not settle for being ignored. No sirree. I think she knows that I hate her, and that I would've bitchslapped her to the other end of the world if she had tried to engage me in a conversation. So she paused briefly and targeted the only other polite person in the backseat- NG.

'NG, what did you write for those two questions?'

The car careened over a winding bridge. Did I mention that PN is obnoxiously fat, and was the main reason why I wasn't sitting comfortably in the car? Apparently she was so busy nailing down all those Ethics theories that she had never bothered to learn basic stuff. Like sitting in a car, for starters.

NG cleared his throat and decided to be polite. 'Um, I wrote more or less the same stuff,' he drawled casually.

If he was hoping that that would shut up PN, he was sadly mistaken. Because this was PN, who is like, the grand-daddy of all nerds. Grand-mummy. Or whatever.

'Oh, but did you put in examples?' she trilled in a tone that made me cringe.

NG smiled ruefully. 'Nope.' And he went back to staring out of the window.

LN squirmed uncomfortably, and said 'I didn't either. I didn't think it was that important.'

At that moment, I so hated LN that I would've strangled her alive. Overlooking my pact not to harm harm-less nerds.

That was the moment PN had been waiting for. She aahed and oohed, and preened in all her paindu glory.

'But the instructions in the beginning explicitly stated that you had to put in examples,' she argued.

Since PN was sitting right behind me, her gravelly voice made me wince.

Nobody had taught LN to shut up at the right time either. 'But the instructions said "use examples where possible". So I think that doesn't make it compulsory.'

PN huffed and puffed like a disgruntled elephant. 'But-'

Friend's Mom, who had so far been trying to ignore PN's racuous voice chimed in 'Where do I have to drop you, PN?'

'No LN, you're wrong. Those two questions said "illustrate with examples", and there were a lot of examples that were applicable.' PN bellowed, totally ignoring Friend's Mom. Which was downright rude of her. Any rational, normal, non-nerd, would have known that. But no, not PN. When she gets down to embarassing herself, she does it thoroughly.

So, PN decided to outdo that level of rudeness and take it up another notch. I saw Friend's Mom visibly stiffen up, and reiterate 'PN, where do I have to drop you?'

PN shamelessly continued with her tirade. 'There was this example about the care theory that I wrote-'

Friend twisted around in her seat and directly addressed her. 'PN, where do we have to stop for you?'

PN gasped for breath like an oxygen starved fish, and continued blathering.

Friend's Mom cut in again, irritated like hell. 'WHERE DO I HAVE TO DROP YOU?'

PN opened her mouth like a gaping fish again, and said firmly 'EK MINUTE!' (Just a sec)

*dramatic music*

*dramatic music on repeat*

Friend's Mom was shell-shocked.

I bit back a cry of 'EW!!!!'

PN's spittle had landed on the back of my neck. 

EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

 I wiped it off with the edge of my dupatta. And never wore that dupatta ever ever again.

PN rambled on in that raspy voice of hers. 'Yeah, so I hope he approves of all my examples. Because if he doesn't, I might end up getting an-' Hushed voice. '-A minus.'

PN paused for dramatic effect. NG had long stopped paying attention, and LN had her head bowed in defeat, as if in acknowledgement of the superior nerdiness of PN.

I was disgusted beyond comparison. PAINDU. NERD. SPITTLE. ON THE BACK OF MY NECK.

PN bristled like a stout hen (yes, she does resemble a number of creatures depending upon the occasion) and finally burst out her address.

I felt more spittle spray on  to the back of my neck. I think the second time it even caught some of my hair.

Why I Hate Nerds- Part I

Once upon a time, like some ten years ago, I was destined to become a nerd. After I got my O level results, I think it had pretty much been written down in blood. However, I soon realized that I needed a life more than I needed straight As, and so thankfully, I was spared of the ordeal.

I don't hate nerds because they are more motivated, disciplined or focused than me. Those are all admirable traits. I hate nerds simply because they are bloody annoying.

Nerds love to cry over marks. Crying over a dead kitten, or flood relief victims, or even clothes that the tailor ruined is understandable. Crying over one mark is not. I should elaborate that by crying I mean
a) wailing like a banshee, incensed at the audacity of the teacher to mess with their marks
b) yelling like a three year old baby high on crystal meth
c) smudging the ink on their papers with tears that spout from a fountain rivalled only by those of women in Star Plus soaps

There have been numerous instances, but I will recount just one. In my first year of university, there was this girl in my batch- still is- let's call her Uber Nerd. The first time the hourlies rolled by, and the results came out, I spotted a destitute and forlorn UN leaning against a pillar, bawling her lungs out, surrounded by two friends who were busy consoling her. I interrupted one of the friends to inquire why (I wasn't sympathetic, I was just curious) and asked her what had happened.

'UN got bad marks in an hourly,' Equally Nerdy friend gestured empatically.

I didn't bat an eyelash. 'So?'

'She's afraid that she'll get kicked out of IBA,' the friend elaborated, probably expecting me to make an equally miserable face and commiserate with UN. Which was so not happening.

'How much did she get?' I asked, not really interested now that I knew that she hadn't been struck by lightening or had had a meteorite crash into her home.

'Eighteen,' the friend hung her head sadly.

I moved away before I laughed myself to death. Hiccupped myself to death, to be more accurate.

Hourlies are out of 20. T-W-E-N-T-Y. Maybe I should've spelled it out for UN.

Right now, Uber Nerd has one of the highest GPAs in our batch and has made it to the Dean's list.

Frustrating Aunty

If you're playing poker, deftly winning one hand after another, there will soon be a time when luck will desert you and you will start losing badly. If you've been getting a superbly high GPA in your previous semesters, there may soon come a time when it plummets to shockingly low levels (sound effect: nerds gasping in horror). When Headband retired to God knows what forsaken corner of the world, I heaved a sigh of relief. I expected things to go smoothly for a while, but like all good things come to an end, so did this interval of peace.

Yesterday, Bilal and I were teaching the students as usual when Frustrating Aunty walked in. I hardly looked up, but she made a beeline towards him and started explaining something in an embarassed manner. Minutes later, Bilal scooted over to where I was busy mulling over fake compounds and modifiers.

'She's an old student of ours....has studied for four months and STILL hasn't given the GRE," Bilal rolled his eyes.

I just shrugged and made my way over to the table where she was sitting. Not that I was bothered- not giving the GRE as planned wasn't really a crime.

Plain looking, clad in a black abaya, she looked like a serious student. After introducing myself, I casually asked her why she hadn't given the GRE last time.

She looked at me attentively and heaved a sigh of despondence. 'Miss, ab kya bataon (yes, it is freaky when a woman ten years older than you calls you Miss), I was teaching  at that time, and I wasn't able to devote as much time to prep. But now I've left the job, I colleague of mine has taken over, and here I am. Oh and I just have till October 7 to give the paper,' she beamed happily.

I gave her a faltering smile, all the while thinking er, there's no need to get so happy about that. Freaky over-enthusiastic lady.

 'That's hardly three weeks from now,' I frowned. ' You need to be done with Math and English by then.'

The ridiculously huge smile on FA's face wobbled. Just a teeny weeny bit.

'But I remember all the words,' she perked up. 'I just completed a test right now, and I got 18 out of 20 right!'

Apparently Frustrating Aunties think that knowing the meanings of eighteen words out of twenty merits them a Nobel Prize. For Synonym Guessing.

If only over-enthusiastic aunty had given me something to be enthusiastic about in return. But my hopes were soon to be dashed. Like a body flung over the side of a cliff, battered into a gazillion bloody pieces.

Frustrating Aunty began reading a Reading Comprehension passage. Ten minutes elapsed. My pencil impatiently beat a staccato on the wooden table. Ultimately, we started on the questions.

'Read the question, and then revert back to that particular section of the passage,' I suggested, as she skimmed through the whole of it with a panicked expression.

Eons passed. I looked at the walls. I looked at the ceiling. I looked at the seconds hand merrily ticking away in the wall clock. I scowled at Bilal shooting me sympathetic glances over his shoulder.

Just when I was about to die from extreme boredom, FA motioned me over. Exhaling sharply, I hunched over her book and asked 'Yes?'

She looked at me as if the question she was about to ask me posed one of the most riddling dilemmas known to mankind. 'Should I read the question before I read the concerned paragraph or vice versa?'

I looked upwards, hoping something would come down and smite me there and then. A piece of yellowed plaster hung precariously from the ceiling, but decided to stay put. No such luck.

'Erm, you can't know what paragraph the question is referring to unless you read the latter first, right?'

FA stared at me with big, black, beady eyes and then averted her gaze back to the book.

Two minutes later, she beckoned to me. 'I don't know the answer to the first question.'

I rephrased the question for her. 'It says "From paragraph 1, what can you deduce about bla bla bla....?' I hinted. 

FA stared back at me blankly. Apparently FA's don't deserve hints.

'That's it,' I pointed to a line in the text that had been copied word for word as one of the answer choices. FA nodded contentedly and began poring over the passage again.

Five minutes later, she lifted her head. 'Miss, I don't know what the answer to the second question is.'

I hated the way she kept on calling me 'miss' in that wheedling tone of hers. By then, her voice was wreaking havoc on my nerves.

'Ok, let's go over the comprehension again,' I suggested before she could get another one of her whiny 'miss's in.

FA began reading the passage. Haltingly, with the utmost concentration.

Within two minutes, I wasn't sure whether she was reciting the text in Greek or French or Gobbledygook.

I decided to spare my ears, as well as those of all the other students in the room, and read the passage aloud myself.

I'm pretty sure class had never been that long before. FA interrupted me at regular intervals to ask me the meaning of every word in the comprehension. For someone who had memorized the entire word list, she was surely coming across as an enigma.

Bilal looked annoyed by the end of class. 'She can't solve even a single Math question!' He hissed exasperatedly. 'She's forgotten everything!'

I sighed, rubbing the heels of my palm against my forehead to get rid of the Frustrating Aunty headache. 'Tell me about it. She doesn't know how to pronounce "archaeological".'

Bilal wasn't surprised even a little bit. 'Tumhay pata hai inhon nae kya kia hai?' (Do you know what her qualifications are?)

'Kya?'

'A Masters in Economics. She used to teach MA Economics in KU.'

I snorted. 'She needs to go back to sixth grade and study Junior English first.'

We cracked up. I winced. My headache hurt. I'll get back at you for this, Frustrating Aunty, I thought ruefully.

Luckily for me, Mr. Extra Super Nerd (who substitutes for me) will be handling FA for the next three weeks while I'm on break. Muhahahaha.

Ramazan Mayhem

My internship has finally come to an end. Six weeks of 8 am-ing to 7 pm-ing are over! And so it's back to sleepless nights and teaching at the prep center once again.

It was with an odd mixture of trepidation and relief that I surveyed the reception area once more. For one thing, I'd really missed coming here. Sure, I'd been coming on Saturdays, but that had hardly felt like the usual routine. And what with Ramazan coming by, classes have become really dull. The students are awfully quiet, and I keep on looking at the clock, waiting for the hours to tick by. However, I must say that it feels lovely to come to work where your boss will chat you up for ten minutes, inquiring about your internship and cursing your bitchy ex-boss. And I need not state that I don't miss spending time stalking bitchy peons and intimidating them just so that I can get coffee.

It was just another regular coffee-less afternoon (because of Ramazan) when I ducked out of class to get some handouts. I trudged past a group of sullen looking kids. The Head Receptionist was talking to this guy with a very grim expression on his face, while two other girls looked on resignedly. Maybe they're getting told off for disrupting class, I thought sympathetically.

About ten minutes later, I walked into the reception area and stopped short. The boy was arguing with the HR, face flushed. One of the two girls was whimpering, and kept on repeating 'I won't go home, I won't go home!' Now that really piqued my curiosity. And so once the trio was out of earshot, I made my way to the HR and asked him about it.

The HR grinned a smile full of yellow teeth. 'Jee?'

I lowered my voice conspiratorially, keeping an eye on the weepy maiden and the freaky adolescent. 'What happened? Why's she crying?'

The HR's smile waned. 'Miss ab kya bataen. These kids are up to their khel kood. Even in class, tch tch.'

The dumb retard that I am, I had to wince and repeat 'Khel kood?'

The HR grimaced and said 'Aapas mein khel kood'. (They were playing games amongst themselves).

I stared at him and only one syllable came out of my mouth. 'Oh.'

I kept on racking my brains thinking what the hell two girls and a guy were doing in a dark classroom after class. All sorts of cheap thoughts flitted across my mind, each one more repugnant than the other. But for the life of me I couldn't figure it out- the guy and the Weepy Maiden were making out, but what was the other girl doing in the room with them?! I surveyed the guy. Ok looking, average teenager with raging hormones. WM was kinda pretty- or probably was, it was hard to tell with all the smudged eyeliner around her red-rimmed eyes. The other girl was a plain looking one wearing a hijab. I mulled over all the possibilities over and over. I could understand why the gawky kid would be making out with WM, but the other one too, at the same time? EW.

Rather than prove my stupidity further, I made my best 'oh-I-understand' face and shut up. HR exhaled and continued, glad that I had finally caught his drift.

'I caught them in class, and I told them I'd be calling up their parents. The guy just balled up his fists and stood mutinously, while WM threw a tantrum and kept on saying that she couldn't go home, her parents would kill her. So I told them "Why do you guys do such things then? And that too in Ramazan. Tch tch." Then they all started crying (how gay on the guy's part, I thought), so I let them go with a warning.'

He shoved a piece of paper towards me. Apparently he had tried to extract an apology from the guy. This is all that the scrap of paper read:

'I am sorry for talking to my friends in class.'

Signed by all three.

I snorted. What had the HR expected, that they'd write 'we apologize for making out at the prep center, and that too just because we got caught'?

Weird desperate kids. Rather stupid desperate kids. Not that it was any of my business whether they were making out or not (that too in Ramazan! Courtesy: the HR), but why do that in a public place? A prep center classroom of all places.

Later when I recounted the story to my sister, she turned to me impatiently and said exasperatedly 'Maryam! How stupid could you be?! Of course the girl in the hijab was on the lookout for any people passing by!'

I don't know how my sister always knows things like these, and I never do.

I huffed. 'Whatever. Needless to say, she did a terrible job.'

RoboCorps

It's almost the end of my six week internship at a certain multinational bank. As it so happens whenever a certain chapter of our lives draws to a close, I find myself reflecting upon the entire internship and what aspects of it I'll miss when I'm back to eat-sleep-eat-repeat mode.

The most uncanny thing about interning here has undoubtedly been the kind of devotion that employees show towards work. Hence the term RoboCorp (short for Corporate. Yes I know I'm very smart to have coined that term). The first day that I entered the department I had been assigned to, I chose to be the Extra Preppy Internee and went around introducing myself to everyone there. The head of the department was effusive and cheerful enough. So was my supervisor, who was quietly surveying me and wondering if he would regret volunteering to be my supervisor over the next six weeks. I strode over to the other employees, especially one who hadn't even participated in the conversation I was having with the others and was staring at his computer screen with alarming attention. Not blinking. Clack clack clack, went his fingers on the keyboard. Eyes affixed to the screen. Silent and motionless, otherwise.

'Hey, I'm the new internee,' I chirped happily, trying not to get freaked out by the zombie-like behaviour.

'Yes, I know.' He replied shortly. Without even looking away from the computer screen. The keys on the black keyboard continued the staccato.

I shrugged off this incident, unnerved by his brusque behaviour. However, as I later found out, I had misinterpreted his abrupt manner. It wasn't just him, it was everyone. And that's when I realized that two years at this bank had transformed them all into RoboCorps.

Each morning, they would all troop in silently. Like missionaries on a secret vigil. They'd plop themselves into their identical swivel chairs, switch on their systems, and whoosh. What then ensued was a mindless marathon of never ending work- poring over spreadsheets spreading over so many columns that I never even know MS Excel could hold, devouring financial frameworks like teenage girls over the Twilight series, and matching figures from ledgers like mathematical superheroes. Of course, mindless would be the wrong adjective to use in this case. All of this work required immense concentration and dexterity. And undoubtedly resulted in heavy salaries.

Nevertheless, it was freaky. Every morning, I'd be forcing my bleary eyelids open just so that I could wrap my head around the rows and rows of figures splayed on the screen. All around me, these mathematical maestros were in their element, engrossed in their work. The only sound in the room was that of six pairs of hands going clickety clack, clickety clack. Morning passed into afternoon, past twilight and into the late hours of the night. And still, the clicking and clacking went on relentlessly, like the harbinger of some kind of impending doom.

Sometimes I felt like going up to them and shaking them. Unplugging their computers and scattering all their papers everywhere. The monotony was dreadful.Yes, there were pockets of laughter where they would crack jokes, pick on each other or have a rare conversation, but this mirth was seldom to be experienced.

It would be hours before any of them would even look away from their screens. Most of them arrived promptly at 9, or even before that at times. Instantaneously, they'd morph into RoboCorps and start working. Most of them didn't even go for lunch, and merely subsisted on the chai that the Bitchy Peon brought in twice a day. Nowadays, they even have aftari in the office. It's a wonder that their families haven't disowned them yet.

Their robotic indifference to everything around them was perturbing. As mentioned in my previous post, a number of employees in Business Planning & Analytics and Commercial Banking have had babies every week. Each time anyone in my department received an email, or was greeted by a peon bearing the glad tidings and mithai, someone would comment nonchalantly 'Guys, Zubair/ Hamza/Taha has had a baby.'

Awkward silence. The spell of the sinister staccato had been dispelled, painfully cleaving the air into half.

'Oh,' someone would finally say. 'I didn't know his wife was expecting.'

And that was it. The ceaseless agony of the keyboards would start again.
The day the AirBlue crash took place, someone piped up 'There's been a terrible crash in Islamabad. Over a hundred people were in it.'

A weighty silence pressed down upon us all. Then another whispered solemnly 'Mr. XYZ's wife was in the crash too. I just got an email.'

And then they all went back to the clickety clacking.

Fast forward to the day that the ANP member was killed. 'Some political person been killed,' someone spoke up all of a sudden. 'There are riots everywhere. You should go home,' he advised an employee who lived in Johar.

The employee's' eyes briefly moved away from the screen. 'Yeah,' he finally blurted out after much thought, and went back to his keyboard. He finally managed to pull himself away from his seat after half an hour. Maybe that's how long panic sets into a RoboCorp, I thought.

The other day, a fire drill was being conducted in the office. My heart leapt at the sound of the low, repetitive siren blaring throughout the office. Yes! Finally a chance to get a break and stretch my legs. I surveyed the people around me, waiting for any of them to make a move.

Nobody did.

The employee mentioned in the beginning of the post motioned me to come over and started explaining what I had to do with the file I was poring over.

I was stunned. Were these people deaf?

Finally, some female barged into our department, apparently out of breath. 'Get up you guys, it's a fire drill!' she hissed viciously and ran out.

These guys looked at each other and grinned amusedly. A slow smile flickered across their faces as they contemplated whether to participate in a silly fire drill or continue with their RoboCorp-ing.

Then someone finally pulled back his chair and ordered everyone to lock their systems.

I skipped down the stairs of the emergency exit and out behind the Branch Operations area. People were milling about and talking to each other; the diversion seemed to have been quite a welcome one. A much needed one, I might add. I hung around with my other internee friends for half an hour after that, and when I finally trooped into my department, bracing myself for those wretched keyboards, a calm silence descended upon me.

There was no one in the entire department.

Apparently that was the only time that the RoboCorps decided to get a life. I sighed, grateful to know that these guys were human too.

The Baby Boom

For all those who are interested (and even those who aren't), my internship is Mashallah sae going great. Not only do I have a very chill boss, but the only hot guy in the entire place is on my floor - EEEEE! :D

There is this one particular department on my floor where the employees are always having babies. No, I don't mean to say that the employees are giving birth in the department, during office hours. But seriously. So far, during the three weeks that I've been here, there have already been at least three babies whose births have brought glad tidings into this world and sentenced their parents to years of Pamper-ing (the brand, not the verb) and putting wailing tomato-faced cherubs to sleep. To celebrate the occasion, boxes of greasy mithai (sweetmeats) promptly arrived, carried in by peons who were by then tired of distributing them to everyone in the entire office.

I don't really like mithai. Gulab jamuns maybe, but nothing else. So every time a wimped out peon would offer me some from a box, I'd disdainfully survey the globs of mithai swimming in sheer (syrup) and politely decline. My friend Emma interns in another department, and time and again she's been boasting about boxes of Lindt and other chocolates that have been coming to her office and how successfully she's managed to swipe a number of them. So my interest in these babies eventually declined.

But today, an employee in Emma's (fellow intern) department has had a son. And Emma has promised to pester him until he gets chocolates to distribute in the office. Let's call this employee Daddy. Apparently, Daddy had told everyone that his wife was expecting, and since he's new, this kind of stayed in everyone's minds. It's hardly been two weeks since Daddy has joined, but he's been trying to be popular. While this is an insanely joyous occasion for him, it does have a downside. He now has a new nickname - Daddy- and whenever anyone calls him that, he pouts like a petulant five year old and childishly admonishes 'I'm not a daddy. No, I'm not.'

My friends and I have immediately labelled Daddy as a wannabe. I also feel sorry for the day old baby whose dad is denying his very existence in an attempt to be cool and sustain the non-existent interest that females here have in him. Tch tch. But our interest in getting our hands on those chocolates has still not subsided.

Nerdville

My boss has been away for umra for the past two weeks. A day before he left, he called me up and told me that this new kid would be coming in to teach SAT/GRE/GMAT. 'At the moment, he's being trained for both Math and English, so please help him out with anything related to English. He's very bright,' Boss vouched. 'He was a student with us last year and scored a 2300 something in his SAT. AND he's topped the IBA test this year.'

Any new addition to the prep center's staff is always looked forward to, and a smarty-pants would be all the more interesting. But when I finally met the alleged the IBA test topper, it turned out to be totally unclimactic.

I was sitting in the reception area talking to Sohaib (another teacher and one of my seniors at university) when Smarty-Pants strolled in.

Sohaib had just been praising him 'Yaar he has a great SAT score too.' I rolled my eyes inwardly- coming from KGS, SAT scores fail to astound me anymore. 'Hey, what was your score in the IBA test?'

Smarty-Pants adjusted his askew glasses. 'Um, I got a 345 out of 400,' he muttered in an embarassed tone.

I looked on impassively, unaffected. I mean hello, I've never even bothered to ask about my IBA test score in the past three years.

'So? That's good!' Sohaib chirped, noticing how downcast he looked.

'Not really,' mumbled Smarty-Pants, shifting from one foot to another. 'I could've gotten a better score, it's just that the Math section was really tough.'

Sohaib cocked an eyebrow. 'Dude, you topped the test. What else do you want?'

His tone immediately got Smarty-Pants all flustered. 'No, I just meant that it could've been better,' he finished lamely.

That very instant, Smarty-Pants' past and future flashed before my eyes. I saw him getting mini awards for coming first in primary school, mugging up stuff from exercise books and crying if he didn't get a full on a test. Getting a world distinction in Add Maths and cursing himself for not getting them in a couple of other subjects as well. I envisioned him having a heart attack on getting a GPA of 3.99 in his first semester at IBA.

What a wimp.