The Exam
The Exam
In front of me heads are bent forward in deep concentration, pens speed across pages leaving tracks like so many spiders. Twenty minutes gone, two hours to go. I’m loosing concentration already. My pen has been resting on the desk in front of me. I don’t feel motivated to pick it up. Glancing down at the printed words before me, I don’t have the inclination to read, the words bore me. My mind wanders. The clock ticks endlessly. Why do they give us clocks with such loud ticks?
To the right someone coughs, to the left someone sighs. The boy behind the cougher taps his feet absently on the floor and gets a disdainful look from those across from him. I look down at the piece of paper on my table. I’ve written very little about physics or QA, or whatever it is I am supposed to be writing about. Taking a deep breath I pick up the dormant pen and put it to the paper.
Half a paragraph written and I look out of the window. The sun shines but I know outside it offers little warmth. I can see the tree tops moving greatly in the spring wind. Not a breeze, it’s too strong. Seagulls soar overhead, totally free. Not for them the drudgery of getting here on time and sitting in this room for hours, wishing the minutes to fly by.
How long have I been daydreaming? Seems like just a minute or so but the clock says longer. One hour gone. My own spider has been at work on my page. Absently I’ve doodled. Curvy squiggles merge with geometric lines and squares, half shaded, half bare. QA! I’m supposed to be doing QA! Again I look at the paper in front of me and start to read. The words are boring and make no sense. What is an IMRT & IGRT QA program? Why is it important to me? I’ve read the same line three times now and I still don’t get it. All around me people are thinking. I can see the lines on their foreheads. I can sense the headaches as their brains struggle to recall information that has long since been buried in the depths of the cerebrum.
What is the point of exams? To test knowledge on a specific day? To make sure the candidate can think under pressure? The dark haired woman, I can’t remember her name, takes a quick drink from the bottle on her desk. It’s an energy drink. Is it helping her think I wonder? It seems to be. She’s writing furiously. I bet she passes.
Why can’t I concentrate on what I’m supposed to be doing? The time is steadily moving on. I can’t believe I’ve been sitting here for so long. I’ve achieved nothing. I look down at the text in front of me and decide I can’t do QA at the moment. I can always come back to it. I’ll move onto something more interesting. Something I can remember or make sense of.
At last. Words in front of me are written in a language I can understand. They make sense. Finally the arachnid picks up speed and my own brow furrows.
“Ten minutes left”
Ten minutes! Where has the last hour gone? I’ve written a few pages now and feel pleased with my self. It’s not been a total waste of time after all. My shoulders are stiff and my neck aches. I stretch my arms out, making my muscles wake up. All around me the sound of pen on paper becomes frenetic. The noise of sighing increases and there is no coughing or fiddling feet now. Backs straighten as bodies and minds gear themselves for the ache of speed writing up to the bitter end. Not for me. I’m done. I haven’t finished everything but what I have done I feel is good work. I’ve not completely wasted the last couple of hours, just some of it.
“Time up. Stop writing.”
Pens clatter to the desks and papers shuffle noisily. Finally. It’s over. All around me people begin to stand and walk to the back of the room to collect coats and bags. As they cross the doorway I hear the usual phrases, “What did you think?”, “Number two was impossible”. “When is the resit?”. I smile to my self and stand up, stretching numb legs. I tidy the note book and journal articles into a neat pile on what was my desk. Thank goodness I don’t have to sit exams any more, just invigilate them.