Undergraduate Days Part 1

I recently got back in touch with a friend that I haven't seen since high school (the wonders of Facebook...) and we've been catching up. She's had a tough time since we left school, but then again I suppose we've all struggled a bit to find where we want to be in life. I was educated at a state high school just outside Manchester from 11-16 and to be honest it wasn't the best experience. Most of the staff was great and I got particularly involved in lots of music activities (choir, band etc.) but the area was pretty poor and most people didn't think they'd get very far in life. My friends seem to have done pretty well for themselves (becoming police officers, chefs and university graduates) but the thought of doing a PhD was so far from our minds during high school that we didn't even think about it long enough to think that it wasn't really a possibility. I've always love Physics so I've just sort of carried on with it. I used to think someone would stop me one day and say 'this isn't really for you' but they haven't yet so I'll just keep enjoying myself.

With all the meandering down memory lane I've been reminiscing university stories to catch my high school friend up, so I thought I'd share a few with you. So here you are: two snapshots of the best and worst times I had a university. I’ll start with the more dramatic (and therefore the best story to my mind) but my next post will be a lot more cheery I promise. If you have a favourite story from your time at university why not leave a comment...

1) Snow/Ice Balls

Equipped for real snow in
Kiruna, Sweden.

It's 5pm on Friday afternoon on the last day of term before the Christmas holidays, and I'm in a lecture theatre. We've been waiting around for the past hour for this particular gem of a lecture and half my year has decided to go to the union bar during this time. It's been snowing for the last couple of days and no one (not even the lecturer) wants to be here. The rest of the department have gone home – it’s just me, my (slightly drunk) year group and a very bored (very new) lecturer. All I want to do is get all the notes written down (I’m far to tired to actually take anything into my brain at this point) but my year has other ideas. Some of the students sat at the back of the lecture theatre have brought some snow in with them. They then decide it would be a really good idea to throw snowballs at those students sat at the front of the lecture theatre. Now I’m sure this was all done as a joke, and if we were all outside I wouldn’t have minded. I admit I was in a bit of a bad mood because I just didn’t want to be there anyway, but honestly I’m not usually that dull.

The fact is I was sat in a lecture theatre with all my carefully handwritten notes and fat, wet snow/ice balls were landing all around me. My notes were getting wet and the ink was starting to run. The throwers were of course careful only to do it when the lecturers back was turned, which wasn’t difficult as he spent most of the lecture writing on the blackboard, but I couldn’t stand it any more. With my blood boiling I stood up in front of the 100 or so people in the lecture theatre, apologised to the lecturer and turning to the culprits sat on the back row said loudly, ‘Get out please’. To this day I do not know why I chose those words - it really doesn't make sense. An odd mixture between rage and antiquated politeness.

The people on the back row seemed amused. I explained what was going on to the lecturer and he tried to reason with the guilty parties so we could all just finish the lecture and get out of there. I tried to reason with the people sat around me – they were all just as annoyed but hadn’t said anything. A couple of people stood up and agreed with me but everyone else got a little bit lower in their seats. When the lecturer continued with his material the snowballs resumed, but this time they were aimed squarely at me. There was only ten minutes left so I pulled my coat around myself and my work and resolved to get out of there as quickly as possible.

After the lecture my friend told me I was stupid for making myself (and her – she was sat next to me and their aim wasn't that great) a target. Others said well done, they were glad someone had said something – even if it didn’t make much difference. My notes were just about readable, but I did have to write them out again without the water stains to stop myself getting angry when I was revising. I’m sure there’s a lesson in there somewhere, but please don't think I'm still bitter about it now. I just like a good story.