I just transferred schools this semester. The school I am at right now doesn’t really care about the hours of mind-numbing English class I sat through before I transferred. I have to take THEIR English class so because it’s “different.” But I know their poorly kept secret, they want my monies. This means that as a senior I am stuck in good ole’ English 101. In my mind English 101 is a pathetic excuse of an English class. English 101 is for eighteen year-old girls that learned to spell by texting things like “U R a QTPie.”

Thankfully, I mastered the art of proper sentence endings about 12 years ago, and I always spell out “you” when I text, so I wasn’t worried.

As it turns out, my English professor is ridiculously intelligent (she also looks like Helena Bonham Carter, making her more intimidating/awesome) which throws me into defense mode to prove my that I have even an ounce of smarts.

Teachers very quickly manage to see past my “big and knowledgeable” 5’5” of unbridled mediocrity.

Our first paper came and went, and I did relatively well.

**Writing Tip**If you want an A in your writing class, join a cult. Then leave it. I’m serious. It makes for good writing material.

Then it came time for paper number two.

“Please write a three page paper about an abstract topic.”

“Okay,” I thought. “Abstract. Depression, love, passive aggressive people, zombies apocalypse.”

I finally landed on humor after throwing around several zombie-related ideas. Humor is something that I know. We have our modern comedians on TV and online. Tina Fey is funny. Allie Brosh is funny. The classics. Carol Burnette, Charlie Chaplin, Groucho Marks. I got this.

After several hours of work, I had three pages of Star Wars references, 30 Rock quotes, a Beethoven music joke, and a paragraph about why puns are the lowest form of humor. I managed to avoid talking about farting. This thing was golden, man.

I passed my 3 pages of my unrivaled perfection down the row of students, hoping that out of the corner of her eye, my teacher would catch the words “Sith Lord” and bow down to me right on the spot. This didn’t happen, but I still had a chance. We had to meet the next day for a quick, five minute conference to go over our rough draft. I knew that my paper wouldn’t have any problems, but I thought I’d give her the opportunity to present me with my “best at all of English” crown.

You can’t tell from the picture, but she’s definitely kneeling.

So the next day I walked into the classroom totally inflated by my own awesomeness. I sat down in my spinny-chair with a cocky grin on my face.

“Alright Whitney,” she began.

In my mind, this is how all crown presentation ceremonies began. Things were off to a good start.

And then...