With my recent obsession with Breaking Bad I was thinking about what a terrible, terrible meth cook I would make.
Growing up I was an awesome student. I even got awards in elementary school for maintaining an A average and for excellent attendance. I was a perpetual teacher's pet. Even through college I kept up the grades and teacher's pet status (even with about 3 jobs at one time). I rarely studied, but I always did my homework. I took such good notes that I actually got paid for my notes in college. I particularly love(d) classes involving history, social studies, and geography.
But Chemistry? Chemistry can die in a fire, a chemically disastrous fire induced by those blasted elements and formulas I could never get a grasp on. I failed that class with wild abandon. It was the only class in the history of my school career that I failed.
In my opinion, I was scheduled to take Chemistry at just the wrong time in my teenage life. I was worried about 3 things: boys, parties, and my outfit. They should have allowed me to take that course while I was in 5th grade when it was painfully clear that I didn't care about being a cool kid. Painfully clear.
Did I really need to know what happened to atoms and chemical bonds? Hell no I didn't. I haven't used that crap a day in my life since. So maybe I had it right. Mind blown.
The only way I managed to proceed past Chemistry was to take it in summer school. This is the butt of all that is my chemistry joke...For the following reasons:
1) My parents paid for the course. Point #2 helps solidify that we actually paid for a letter grade.
2) The school's name was Mountain Ed. I can't make this shit up.
3) The textbook that was given to me was from the 1960's, of course that was going to be easier, half of the elements weren't even listed!
I learned rather quickly that the poor schmuck that was paid to babysit us inconsiderate snots didn't care if I even showed up every day. As long as I passed the tests I was in the clear. Is this real life? With this info in mind I read that smelly, vintage text book and took all of the tests before the second week was even up. This allowed me to worry about the other important things in life.
Nowadays I still worry about my outfits, but I certainly don't concern myself with parties, boys, or the DAMNED PERIODIC TABLE.
So, who wants to cook some meth with me? anyone? no?