Registration Day

Before we were allowed to leave SFU we were forced to attend a lecture about culture shock. All right, I'm in England. My family is quite in tune with the culture of the UK. We knew what we were getting into. We're not exactly in Zimbabwe. We're not feeling culture shock. We're experiencing...

CULTURE BITCH

This mostly has to do with registration. Perhaps it is an unfair reflection of the British culture, but we feel the need to bitch. Because -- seriously??

We applied through SFU International. We filled out a lot of paper work. Really, we did. We picked out classes. We had them approved by advisors. We sent them to Leicester. Leicester said no, special topics can only be taken by Leicester students, so we had to pick from a comparetively lame list of only a couple of courses. Fine, whatever. We'd mostly come to terms with this, but were harbouring a hope that we could change that when we got here.

We get here. We have to go through an online registration process. Okay, fine. Then, then we get to the really annoying bit. We have to register with our department(s).

So to the English department it is. There is a specified time and place, we follow directions. There's a bit of a line, but not that many are in front of us. We're optimistic. We're in the line up for ALMOST TWO HOURS because they only take people in two at a time. They literally sit down and discuss it with you.

I'm going to take this moment to point out to those who don't know, that SFU does all this online in a perfectly civilized time efficient and convenient manner.

We get into the little room with the little advisors and are told that it's not that we're not allowed to take special topics, it's just that we can't take them. There are so few spots that they're always filled with Leiecester students. I kinda thought that by doing this exchange thing I am a Leicester student for this semester, but whatever. I ask when we'll know if there will be any spaces. There won't be, I'm assured. Fine. Growl. Moving on.

The reasonably friendly lady asks for a photo of me. "Uh... don't you have one? I've sent a tonne of photos to this school" Because I have. International kept saying to send them, so we kept sending them. Well no, apparently the department hasn't got one. We have to aquire those.

Then we get really annoyed. Because the next part of this registration shennanigans? We have to pay them ten pounds (approx $20.00) for a photocopying fee. Excuse me? I can take care of my own photocopying thank you (Susan: we did buy photocopy cards afterall). Somehow I doubt you're going to go through twenty bucks worth of photocopying on my behalf. And have you people never heard of the internet?? Because it's remarkably easy and cheap to send us information through that dandy online format. Seriously.

So we leave this rediculous office a little more than annoyed. We've now "registered" with the department, but do we have timetables? No. Have they told us what books to buy? No. Have they given us our library cards yet? No. Have we accomplished ANYTHING through this rediculously archaic ritual of registration? No.

Leaving the Attenborough building, we head back to the international office so they can at least give out library cards (well for Susan anyway... I got to repeat this rediculousness the next day with the History of Art department -- at least they didn't charge me money). International is at least able to give us some pictures of ourselves so we don't have to deal with that. The friendly lady there, in response to our frustration, assures us that it's the British way: they're a grumbly people and they feel obligated to give us something to grumble about. That, and they just really like to queue.

Well we were certainly grumbling. We were calling ourselves "The Huffy Canadians" -- you should have seen us in the elevator. We were huffing about the talking elevators and how at home we don't need to be told that the doors are opening et cetera. (Susan: oh yeah, and we ended up being the huffy Canadians because we relayed our annoyance to an elevator stuffed with people, I think I literally stomped my foot).

An entire day was devoted to this process. We still don't have a timetable. Classes still don't start until next week. We've at least mostly figured out what books we'll need, but are kinda unsure because at least one of the reading schedules literally looks impossible.

At home this whole thing would have been done in about fifteen minutes online. We'd have built our own schedules. We'd have registered ourselves. It all would have been nice. As it remains, it looks like I'm going to have a Friday class for the first time in my undergraduate career. Even that I could get over if the rest of the process hadn't been so... rediculous!!! (Susan: also, I was sick and in uncomfy shoes throughout this whole process)

And that, my friends, is the

CULTURE BITCH