It’s finally here. This is the moment you’ve worked so hard to get to all of these years. In a haze of getting no sleep from pulling all-nighters for finals and the general “a D is still technically passing” feeling sinking in, you make your way onto the stage to shake the hand of [fill in name of any old white man]. You get handed your diploma, and while still brimming with pride, you unravel the rolled up sheet of paper only to find that it’s not really a diploma at all. It’s just a blank piece of paper that you don’t even have time to admire because you’re being shooed off the stage so that the next graduating senior can have his moment of glory. So there you are, being unceremoniously shuffled out of academic life during the biggest ceremony of your academic career. It’s right at that moment when you realize your regret at not having asked the Chancellor for some cab fare, so that if you’re going to be used up like a dirty whore, you can at least have something to show for it and get home safely.
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