I make it a rule never to bring work back to the flat, and at the same time I hate leaving unfinished work in the office. When I do, it plagues me all the way home till the next morning because I know how absent-minded I can be, so I have to keep reminding myself to finish it. (Usual scenario: I write a note to myself as a reminder. I lose that note.)
So I do end up finishing a piece of work a nice comfortable distance from the deadline and have sorta ended up with a reputation of being pretty “early”.
(Usual scenario at work starts.)
Senior: Have you started preparing for….etc.?
Me: Uh yeah, I finished it a few days ago.
Senior: Great. Can you furnish me with a copy?
Me: Sure, of course. It’s here somewhere…(*rummage rummage*) Geez, where did I put it? Just give me a minute…
(Usual scenario at work ends.)
(I have found all my work so far, I really did just need a minute. And my senior does the same rummaging movements as well sometimes. XDD)
Still far from what we call an OC, though, which is short for obsessive-compulsive. (A friend of mine had explained, back in 2001 when the term was born, that you’re OC if you go to bed and your door is slightly ajar and a thin ray of light is seeping through and you simply cannot go to sleep without closing the door first.)
(Since I left Manila, I’ve met up with some pretty hardcore OCs who make me look like an absolute, sloppy slacker. I met one in Beijing, two in Sydney, and one in Hong Kong. It’s a pity that it’s a slang term only in the Philippines; tsk, missed all the fun provided by an accusation of OCness.)
I knew plenty of OCs back home though. One of them was in the same course as I was in UP and we had some classes together, though we majored in different areas. Prime specimen of OC, she was.
Anyone who’s ever been a student in UP knows what kind of hell semester enrollment is. (A friend of mine used to have nightmares about it before the event.) I bumped into my OC friend when we arrived at Palma Hall (este, AS!) and she pulled out an index card from her handbag and crossed out the first item in her list of things to do: Arrive at 9AM. She didn’t understand the bewildered look on my face.
We used to hand in our papers by stuffing it into the prof’s pigeonhole (this was before the English department stopped this and just left a general dropbox) and she would actually collect everyone’s papers into a pile and insert her own paper right in the middle so it wouldn’t fall off it. And when we had a prof who would rather we slip our papers through the crack of the locked door to his office (in a certain way, it was pretty risky. If you slid your essay with a little too much might, it could skitter across the floor and be wedged under some object that would keep the prof from seeing it), she would wait outside his door until he came back so she could hand it in face to face.
And once, by some extremely fortunate encounter, I discovered that our grades from a History class we had been in had accidentally been overlooked by admin and had not been forwarded by the History department to the Office of Student Records, in typical UP fashion – meaning we were never credited for that class. And because they had forgotten it, they said that I, la student, had to do it myself. (??!! Moving on.) And perhaps because I had a heart of gold or perhaps because I did not have much of a life, I ran around for more than an hour to and fro between the two places and singlehandedly manage to transfer all our grades to the Office by hand. Anyway, I had a Biology (or was it Geology? One of those general ed stuff) class after that, where I told another friend about it and hastily assured him that I had fixed it so it was OK. OC friend was sitting behind us. And he slyly suggested telling OC friend about the mix-up without saying that it had been resolved. I told him to do it because I was a crap liar. XDD Chaos. The commotion she raised. I had never tried so hard not to laugh in my entire life.
Best of all. Graduation day. Our department head had muddled up the names in the roll, separating the names of those who were graduating without honors and those who were graduating with them (the names were supposed to be called alphabetically without segregation). OC friend was graduating with honors…which means she didn’t get called on the first round. Which she interpreted as not being able to graduate. Which meant she hiked up her gown and started marching toward the podium with a furious look on her face before the dept head started calling out the honor names. XDD My dad got the whole thing on videotape. With a very good angle.
(Lord knows where OC friend is now.)
Geez. Has it already been four years since I got my undergraduate degree?