One girl’s tragic tale of rejection, heartbreak, and sans-serif mayhem
Maybe ma was right. Maybe I shoulda stayed home and learned how to milk the goats, become a mid-wife and gotten married to cousin Jimmy-Joe. I really thought I was gonn’ be somebody when I got accepted into the Park School of Communications, for integrated marketing communications. Boy, was I wrong. Hell’s bells, I’ve been rode hard and hung up dry. My first semester was worse than a sack of hairy potatoes.
The term started out peachy keen. I made lots of artsy friends with big ole’ MacBooks, learned what a “vegan” is and pretended to have fun at dem nasty baseball and football houses…That’s where the kids drink warm beer and boys try to do unholy things to girl’s buttocks’ when they ain’t expectin’ it.
Anywho, I know it all sounds like a hoedown, and it totally was… until midterms hit.
At first, my midterm assignments actually seemed easy peasy. I did not have too many tests, since I was taking mostly intro classes. I did have a whopping PowerPoint project in my graphic designing class. It was my favorite course, though, so I wasn’t worried.
My project was all about the “Queen of the South,” as pappy calls her, the magnificent Paula Deen. I spent 32 hours straight in the library, and even brought a chamber pot with me so I didn’t have to leave my chair.
Finally, that Monday was presentation day and I was tingling with excitement jitters. I knew that my presentation was the best in show, so I volunteered to go first.
That’s when the weirdest thing happened. I pulled up my PowerPoint on the projector, and everybody suddenly darted out the room, as if Uncle Billy Bob was here and ripped a big one. Even the professor ditched! I was alone in the classroom with a gigantic pixelated display of Paula Deen’s face behind me.
What have I done?
Does nobody here like Queen Deen?
I guess word of my unpopular presentation spread like wildfire. My Park professors refuse to engage in face-to-face communication and will only Tweet hash-tags at me. Don at Towers no longer inquires about the status of my mama’s fried chicken, and he throws peppermints at me when I walk through. Even the cashiers at Mac’s didn’t give a classic double take when I asked to purchase a pregnancy test.
Thankfully, my professor was too kind, (bless him), and eventually called me into a private meeting. I was just too shocked when he informed me that the Comic Sans I chose to use in my presentation was apparently a very “uncool move,” a major “faux-pas.” Is that true? It’s just so fun and playful!
Welp, I think it’s about time I head back to the farm. Lately I eat my suppers all alone in the bathroom stalls, recycle and compost all by my lonesome, and am even rejected by that darn Ithacat.
This shift in my life’s path might be sign, though! It’s time to build a new me, so I think maybe it’s time that I start using a new font.
Hrmmm…. I’ve got it! I’m switching to Papyrus.
Lizzy Rosenberg is a sophomore IMC major who thinks all fonts are created equal. Email her at erosenb1[at]ithaca.edu.