With a Birthday E-mail

Tiffany is working on a paper for her sophomore Gender Studies class, 'History of US Women's Rights', when she receives an e-mail notification on her phone from the Financial Aid office. She puts her paper, a study on the ways in which the Women's Lib movement had opened opportunities for women while simultaneously degrading moral standards across the Western world, so she can read it. After all, it might be her birthday, but her education takes precedence over fun, and anything from school administration takes precedence, at least temporarily, over her paper.

Dear Miss Richardson:

Dammit, she's asked repeatedly that Admin start using 'Ms.' as their default greeting for women rather than separating them by marital status! Time for another letter to the Dean of Students. Reading on ...

This e-mail shall serve as notice that, pursuant to the 'Education & Employment Readiness Act of 2033,' the 'Gender Studies' major no longer qualifies for financial aid, Stafford loans, or any other form of assistance including work-study programs. Please be aware that your loan administrator(s) may be contacting you regarding repayment of loans now considered 'in arrears,' per Section IV, Paragraph 113 of said Act. Please contact the Bursar's office at your earliest possible convenience regarding alternate tuition payment methods.

Have a nice day!

"WHAAAAT?!!?" Tiffany shrieks. She'd heard ... something ... about the E&ER Act, but she'd thought it was about useless subjects like English Lit and Business Administration, not something important like Womyn's Studies! In a rage, she storms out of her dorm room, headed for the Bursar's.

On her way across campus, though, Tiffany's red-hot anger gets drowned in uncertainty. What if the Bursar and Financial Aid are right? Sure, Gender Studies isn't as worthless as History or Anthropology, but it's not exactly a STEM subject, either. What is she gonna do? That e-mail said something about arrears and immediate collection ...

By the time she stands before the Bursar's office reception desk, Tiffany is a bundle of nerves with a cold, hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach. "H-hi," she says nervously to the receptionist, a disheveled but busty woman with whom Tiffany has feuded before over the whole 'Miss/Missus/Miz' thing, "I-I'm Tiffany Rich ..."

"Ah, yes, MISS Richardson," the receptionist smiles at her, "Just a moment while I find your file."

(Cow, Tiffany thinks ...)

"Let's see, now: Retraction of Assistance due to Employment Skill Insignificance. Why didn't you study anything useful?" she gives Tiffany another saccharine smile, "Did you want to arrange some other form of payment besides your now-rescinded Stafford loans and financial aid? Oh, and your work-study position has gone to one of our fine Psychology students. You did get that part of the message, right?"

"Alternate ... payment methods?" Tiffany asks, too much in shock to take in anything else at the moment.

"Oh, sure! We can take cash, credit cards, bank checks or money orders! Let's see ... your tuition, plus housing and meal plan would be... carry the two... twelve thousand eight hundred dollars! That's with the five percent discount for cash, of course..."

**** and sputtering, Tiffany manages to gasp out, "T-twelve THOUSAND? Don't you have some kind of... of discount for indigent students? I'm not on the meal plan and work-study because I don't know what to do with all my money ..."

"Twelve thousand eight hundred, dear. And that includes all the 'discounts' I can give, I'm afraid. Why don't you see what your parents can do to help?"

"I... I don't think they have that kind of money..." Tiffany trails off, wide-eyed, watching her educational dreams go up in flames.

"Well then, why don't we just close out your student account now, then? May I have your student ID, please?"

Still staring wide-eyed, Tiffany fishes her identification out of her purse and hands it over to the bursar's receptionist, who places it in a slot atop a large, black machine. There is a brief grinding noise accompanied by the scent of burning plastic.

"There. You are now an ex-student at this university. Please do not attempt to attend classes, or the instructor will be **** to report you to Security, who will escort you off the campus or contact the police at their discretion. As a courtesy, the school will not seek reparations for the half-semester's tuition you currently owe, so long as you clear out your half of your dorm room and turn in your key by 6:00 PM today. I see you also have two library books in your possession; please see that they, along with your textbooks, are returned to the library by six as well, or the college will be **** to seek recompense for the stolen items. Do you have a parking pass?"

"N-no. No, wait!" Tiffany's voice was rising to a panicked shriek. "Isn't... isn't there supposed to be some kind of transitional period? I thought I read ..."

"There is, and it ends in..." she takes a quick look at her wristwatch, "three hours and fifty-three minutes, unless you want to owe the university six grand and change AFTER the police are summoned."

The receptionist, who really had not had so much fun on the job in her fifteen years at this counter, looked at the panting, wide-eyed, panic-stricken former student and pasted a sympathetic expression on her face. "Look, hon, I'm sorry. You're getting a rough deal, and that's the truth, but all I can do is follow the rules they lay out for me."

"Look, if you can come up with the tuition before you miss too many classes to pass, we can reinstate you like this," she says with a snap of her fingers, "And ... I really shouldn't do this, but Professor Chulo, over in Photography and Theater Arts, has a personal project he's working on, and he's looking for people. It's ON campus but not PART of the university, if you get my meaning. So if you're looking to make some money, look him up. Here, let me give you his business card. Tell him Thelma over in Administration sent you, okay?"

Still in a daze, Tiffany nods, gives a distracted, "Thank you," and wanders back out into the hallway.

Thelma the receptionist waits, standing in place, until she hears the heavy, creaking doors that lead out to the Quad open and close. Then she picks up her phone, checks a number on her computer screen, and dials a number.

"Hello, may I speak to Emmett or Robin Richardson, please? Oh! Hello, Mrs. Richardson. This is Thelma Conroy at Commonwealth University Financial Aid. I just wanted you to know that your Tiffany has been successfully unenrolled here at CU. Hm? Well, pretty shell-shocked, actually, but don't worry. We have people watching out for her until she can get in touch with some 'friends.' We don't want to deny the world her ... charms ... by driving her to suicide, after all. We're still agreed that she needs some tough love to put her on the right path, aren't we? Good, good. So she'll probably be trying to contact you soon. We'll see to it that her friends are nearby when it turns out you 'can't help' her. Why, thank you, ma'am! We do try to be of service. You have a great day, too!"