by Jennifer Yu

August 3, 2004

So let me paint you a picture. It’s CalSO, UC Berkeley’s wonderful student orientation. I walk into my temporary dorm room in Unit Three (someone shoot me now). I see water spots one foot in diameter decorating the walls. No, not on the ceiling, but on the walls. Only heaven knows how they got there. There’s about two and a half feet between my bed and the desk and the same to my roommate’s. This is where I’m going to be staying for the next year of my life?

Well, at least I heard the dorm I’ll be staying at, Unit Two, is slightly newer, right? No. I miss my own bathroom. I woke up in the middle of the night because I had to use the restroom. I’m at Berkeley for one night and I find that these supposed adults, who I will from now on refer to as kids, don’t know how to flush the toilet. Not just one kid, but two! I was appalled and utterly disgusted. I don’t care if their bathrooms have eight sinks, I’m spoiled and I miss my own home already.

Wow, all that nitpicking and I haven’t even gotten to why I developed this love-hate relationship with Cal. So to make an even longer story short. We had to pick classes and I found the absolute best course for me—English 43A: An Introduction to Short Fiction. It’s a freshmen class—absolutely perfect for me. I was so excited about the course, but I found out that I couldn’t get into the class without a course approval code.

So, I came home, telephoned Berkeley’s English department head, Linda Keilch, and left a message. I also left a message with the professor. I figured I had to get some where with all this effort. Well, apparently she’s on vacation and so Mr. Ken Mahru returns my call. He tells me that there was an application deadline due back on April 20, 2004 for the class. I didn’t even turn in my statement of intent to register until April 24th! This is a freshmen class. How did incoming freshmen know because I certainly didn’t? His response is, “Well, English majors were well aware of this.” So, secretly, on the other side of the phone line I’m sitting at my desk developing this dislike for Mr. Mahru because none of this makes sense. Freshmen class, application deadline before students are even enrolled at Berkeley, and just because I’m not an English major as of right now, I get jipped in the long run from the only class I want to take as a freshman.

Anyways, after all my whining to Mr. Mahru, he suggests that I email the professor, Professor Ishmael Reed, which I do immediately. I wrote the professor a very nice email, subject line “English 43A at UC Berkeley,” which he never responded to. (I can show you the email.) Lovely man I must say. It was an AOL email account so I committed a somewhat taboo and obsessed action and checked to see if he was online on my AIM account, which he was. He was online and never responded to my email. The nerve!

So here I am, a month later, without the only class I could have ever wanted. Will I take it in the spring? No, because I’m bitter and I will boycott Professor Reed’s class. (Actually I was unable to get into one of the required English classes this semester so that’s what I’ll be taking next semester). I understand it’s summer and he doesn’t want to be bothered, but he could at least help me out and give me an alternative time to contact him right?

Well, right now I’m enrolled in a prose class, but it’s just not the same. Yes, I could have waited and sat in on Professor Reed’s class, however, I couldn’t leave that time slot open in my schedule in hopes that on the off chance he’d let me into his class. My fault? Sure, why not, everything is always my fault.

So to conclude this rather long entry, I love Berkeley for the fact that they offer some of the best classes I could have ever wished for. But I hate Cal for not letting me take them. For not even responding! To that I say “Go bears???”