THE DEPARTMENT OF DAMN YOU DON'T BOTHER US WE'RE PRETENDING TO BE BUSY

Wow.  Just wow.  I have no other words.  Okay, FIASCO.  There.  One more word.

The university where I just finished the requirements for a second Master's degree is run like a really bad episode of Keystone Kops.  No one seems to know what they're doing, yet they all run around looking professional while running into walls and falling over onto train tracks. 

First I had to deal with the Department of Damn You Don't Bother Us We're pretending to Be Busy.  I finally managed to get my thesis delivered by hand to the We'll Gladly Take Your Money for a Chance to Ignore You Repeatedly, only to have my thesis sucked into the vortex of the office of We Don't Give a Shit About You Because You're Meaningless to Us.  Since delivering the thesis, which already got lost on its way to Oz, I have heard nothing.  No-Thing.  Not a stinking word though they have my name, email address, second email address, phone number, etc.

This fiasco of a nightmare led the Division of You Disgust Me With Your Grovelling Ways You Dirty Plebian to tell me I could not walk at my own graduation last Thursday without further grovelling and multiple genuflections (and the promise to cut out my own heart on stage with a used up fountain pen while accepting my diploma).  So I didn't show up at graduation.  It's not that I couldn't spare my heart; I didn't have any empty fountain pens... yes, I have fountain pens.  And ink cartridges.

So I emailed the Dean of Dismissiveness, inquiring as to when/if I would ever be receiving the paperwork conferring upon me my Master of Arts degree that the scholars of my undergraduate institution warned me against getting at this other institution due to possible ineptitude.  (Kick me.  Go ahead.  Kick me now.)  The Dean of Dismissiveness informed me that she had already contacted the Department of Damn You Don't Bother Us We're pretending to Be Busy, and how dare I darken her computer monitor with such horrible requests as when I might possibly get the paperwork that I need to get a raise at work (ie: my dgeree).

This Dean further demanded that I meet with her face-to-face to discuss the ridiculous issues that possibly led me to believe, after investing several thousands of dollars of my own cash and credit and loans into their school, that they owed me any goddamned thing other than a swift and dismissive boot to my self-esteem.

Look.  I'm not a hardass.  I did the frigging work.  I paid for the courses.  I drove to that stinking school over and over and over and put up with constant semester after semester threatening of cancelling the only courses offered in my major.  All I want is the goddamned degree.  I already got the grades.  Just tell me when the frig someone is planning on mailing my f*$#ing degree, already.

So help me and them and all of us, if I have to deal with one more professional idiot at that university, the top of my head is going to blow off and snakes are going to escape and eat up the entire faculty and maybe even the campus bookstore people because they're not too helpful, either.

So there.

And yes, people sitting in the same boat I am, YOU'RE WELCOME.  Now, row, damnit, and let's get the hell away from the Titanic before she finishes sinking.