Editor's note: This article is satire.
You’re halfway through the fall semester slogging through another week of endless midterms when you get the dreaded email.
“Dear student,
Undergraduate spring registration begins on…”
Panic sets in. You scroll further and realize the game's rules have changed. Now, you can waitlist up to 12 credit hours without these hours counting toward your enrollment limit. Also, a Gimghoul member must endorse your spot on the waitlist.
You get over the initial shock. Go through the five stages of grief. You reach out to your academic adviser, who you have yet to speak to since your old one quit. After rotting in the drop-in advising queue on standby, it’s time to figure out your schedule.
It looks like you still have 50 general education requirements left; it's almost like they keep adding new ones every year. Before you know it, you’re talked into changing your pre-med track to an English major with a creative writing concentration. It looks like you’ll graduate only five years after you intended!
Ready to take on a new personality to go with your new major, you start shopping for classes. You realize most of the courses you need haven’t been offered since the fall of 2009, thanks to an attack on tenure. You somehow add enough classes to your cart with over 20 backup plans in Coursicle, just in case something falls through.
It’s now the night before registration. You’ve carb-loaded; you’ve stretched; you have refreshed and closed the ConnectCarolina tab to make sure that green circle is shining back at you. You have prepared in a way you know your peers haven’t. This is your March Madness.
