...the number displayed on the screen was the score that I had received on my first mid-term, the one that would find itself plastered on my personal transcript:
With this frightful realization, my heart sank. Oh, the horror of it! The shame! How did this happen? How had I allowed this to happen?
For days, I couldn’t put that horrid number - 88 - out of my mind. I thought about it as I tried to fall asleep at night. It irked me in the daytime too. Maybe Professor Luders had made a mistake? Maybe he didn’t count up the points right? Unlikely. Maybe he hated me? I grew paranoid with the myriad possibilities as to why I had been cursed with the scholastic tragedy that is a B. I was angry. I was upset. I wanted answers. Sure it was a B+. Some might even call that a “good grade”. But in my eyes, it was still just a B.
I looked around YU at my fellow students, and many of them seemed to be equally mired in their own grade-induced hysteria. One of my good friends, after receiving a C on his English paper, related to me with utmost sincerity that “his life was over,” and that he’d “never get into law school now.” I felt for him. I could tell he meant it. But he sounded ridiculous. And I realized how ridiculous I too had sounded and acted in the aftermath of that 88.
And so, with the benefit of a little hindsight and some much-needed perspective, I arrived at the following conclusion:
Everyone needs to chill out about his grades.
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