Jacko of the North Star

…which was just about the most exciting thing to happen that day.

Well, aside from getting to explore the Biomedical Sciences building, that is. Beseeching the use of the lavatory, I was sanctioned to gallop down eerie corridors and through unfamiliar gates, eventually happening upon a charming collection of loos. Decisively, the taps for the sinks had rotating handles. That’s classy stuff; it says a lot about biomedical students that their malevolent monarchs, clad in blood-stained aprons and black glasses, trust them to conserve water. Us profligate lot are lumbered with those other kinds of taps—the ones where you have to press down on the knob to compel the discharge of water, and only then for limited periods of time. “What if I can’t wash the soap off before the water runs out!?” I often scream, loudly. And then, as if by some theurgic tragedy, my worst fears are realised, forcing me to press down on the knob again, still screaming, but now in staccato.

And so Korean Class demanded I reveal who I hate more: Tom or Jerry. I chose the rat. “Ah, you chose Jerry because you wanted to say the shorter sentence,” the teacher mused.

“No,” I answered. “I just really hate Jerry.”