TRADUZCA ESTO

I'm working toward another degree,  a Master's in English with a writing concentration.  I am about eleven weeks from starting my thesis.  In the meantime, there's a foreign language requirement I must pass. 

That's right: Foreign language ... to get an English writing degree.

The funny part is that I have already completed the requirement of two or more semesters of foreign language at the undergraduate level, but it was so long ago that even the Grandfather Clause has long-since died and been buried. My only option is to pay for, take, and pass the Graduate Foreign Language Exam. 

It's not that big a deal.  I am allowed to bring my own pencils and a Spanish-English dictionary.  I have ninety minutes to translate about 300 words of text.  After reviewing the multiple tenses of verbs (present, past, past perfect, imperfect, preterite, subjunctive, future, future perfect... etc., etc., etc.), I'm reasonably certain that I'm ready. 

Driving to the university, which is in the heart of Salem, MA, it dawns on me that I'm a little perturbed.  It also dawns on me that I am not nearly as bothered by taking the exam as I am about the date on which they chose to administer it.  The exam is being given late morning on the last Saturday before Halloween.  In Salem.  Witch City.  Pre-Halloween Saturday. 

Pissah.

I have been stuck in Salem pre-Halloween gridlock twice before.  I remember both times well enough not to make the mistake a third time of driving through Salem on the last Saturday before The Big Day.  I know that the center of Salem, the same area that is the most direct route to school, is loaded with ghosts, ghouls, and zombies today and every day until Halloween passes.  I also know that they get really ticked off if you hit them with your car.  I mean, come on - The guy is already a zombie.  (By the way, that excuse cannot be used in traffic court.  I'm just saying.)

I drive in a giant circle on my way to the university, completely avoiding the main action when I remember I am almost to Gallows Park.  Round and round and round I go (where I'll stop, nobody knows!  Oh, yes you do: I'm heading for the school.)  This route brings me parallel to the park and runs me by the middle school, hospital, and high school.  I arrive at university exactly thirty minutes prior to test check-in time, park my car in the lot, and head to the in-school Dunkin Donuts for a tea.  Alas, Dunks is closed.  CLOSED!

I do some homework for my regular class then saunter over to the building and classroom where the test will be given.  The teacher proctoring the exam is late.  Yup, time's a-wasting.  Eventually I am able to see my exam -- a passage about Fidel Castro.  By the time I am done translating the words and phrases I don't know, I have wasted almost an hour of time.  By the time I am done with the passage, I know a helluva lot more about Fidel Castro than he will ever know about me.

When it's all over, I am sorely tempted to drive into Salem center and get myself stuck in the thick of it all, but I remind myself that I have made that mistake before.  Twice.  Because I'm an idiot.  I opt for the back roads, cutting over again near Gallows Park and turning on the street that runs parallel to my all-time favorite named store, Bunghole Liquors. It's still early.  I have time to help a friend move plants inside for the winter, take college-dwelling's son's left-behind car for a ride, and bring my sister her birthday card. 

All of this I do and still the burning question nags at me even now, hours later:  Why must I prove competency in reading another language if I am earning an advanced degree in English writing?

En fin, todavía no sé por qué.