Gone are the halcyon days of claiming a “family emergency” to get out of doing the Spanish oral that crept up more un- expectedly than the Inquisition. UCL’s revised set of extenuating circumstances now mean that “exam stress, financial problems, accommodation problems or domestic problems are part of the eve- ryday reality of being a student” [Heavy- handed satire, even for us - Ed.] and all claims must be processed by the mono- lithic shitstorm that is College’s central- ised bureaucracy. All forms must be sub- mitted in triplicate, signed in the blood of virgins and have prior papal approval when claiming “acts of God”. What your uni is saying is this: If you really want to push back that deadline, you better up your excuses game, shitstain.
The affable professor who previously gave you another week to submit your essay after he forgot it was due will soon feel the full force of University College London; he will swiftly be black-bagged and replaced by a cyborg facsimile. Say au revoir to the days of departmental au- tonomy and reasonable expectations of students; prepare for tight deadlines and instant fails once TurnItIn ticks one sec- ond past the hour of reckoning. This isn’t Kansas anymore Dorothy, and you’re ab- solutely fucked for that Spanish presenta- tion mi amigo.
Sure, you might have builders drill- ing five feet from your bed in halls – but that’s just a normal part of student life now, much like shitting in the shower and overdosing on Modafinil. Who cares if your parents and the trolls under the bridge at Student Finance have con- spired to leave you destitute, struggling to choose between paying the rent and buy- ing alphabetti spaghetti to shovel straight into your quivering mouth? Even domes- tic problems like the inability to hear the words “in this essay I am going to write” in your own head over the sound of your sister throwing a kettle at your mum is just part of the modern student experi- ence. Think of it this way: if Carol Vor- derman managed to push through the crippling existential dread and doubts about the future to come out with a third – not to mention going on to win Rear of the Year twice – then so can you.
Think your Nan’s death will guarantee you an extension? Only once the body has been examined by the UCL High Medical Council, as well as being person- ally inspected by the Provost to make sure she isn’t just faking it or having a really long nap. You might cry yourself to sleep every night, and your diet may consist solely of Sainsbury’s basics lager, but you still have to sit that exam mate. Under the new regulations, medical problems will now only constitute double amputations, with proof having to be provided in the form of the severed, disintegrating limbs – bagged and labelled. Probably best to wave goodbye to your arms if you’re be- hind on your dissertation. What are you waiting for? Chop chop!