The Times - Serving Waitsburg, Dayton and the Touchet Valley

Hey there, everyone!

Okay, so maybe that was a bit too peppy a start for the last regular edition of this column, but if there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s when the final book in a series gets all moody and broody just because the author’s sad it all has to come to an end.

I’ve been thinking about how to write the piece you’re currently reading for ages. For a while, I contemplated printing my “lost first column”, which was about getting a column, but then I decided that I really needed a chance to say goodbye as the person I am today, not the girl I was 144 columns ago.

I thought about doing a “compound column” of the funniest things I’d ever written, but most of them aren’t very funny without the proper context. I even considered revealing my top-secret recipe for Knowledge Bowl brownies so that a new generation of players can use it to propel WHS to victory, but then I realized that people from rival districts subscribe to The Times as well, and that in any case having an awesome secret recipe is good for my self-esteem.

The vision for this column that stuck with me most, though, was a piece brimming with optimism – a metaphorical ride into the sunset. I would gush about my incredible roommate, the wonderful opportunities at Whitman, and the fact that today was the first day of the rest of my life. You would all get just a bit weepy, but you would be smiling when you set the paper down.

Last night I decided not to do that.

It’s not that my roommate isn’t awesome (because she is CRAZY awesome), or that Whitman isn’t awash with opportunity (because it really and truly is), or that today isn’t the first day of the rest of my life (because, well, yeah).

It’s that I still have corny jokes I need to unload. So here goes:

At the financial aid office at a small liberal arts college, the door creaks open and a large frog hops up to the front desk. To the surprise of the intern manning said desk, the frog produces a student ID proving that it attends the college.

“I need a $5,000 Stafford loan (croak)”, says the frog.

The intern, mightily confused, directs the frog to the office of Patricia Wak, the school’s federal loan coordinator. The frog hops into the office and says “I need a $5,000 Stafford loan (ribbit)”.

“Well,” replies the highly confused Ms. Wak, “we don’t usually grant those this late in the year. What do you need it for?”

“Supply and (ribbit) studio fees for my Art 150 class (croak),” replies the frog.

“Um, okay,” says Ms. Wak. “We’ll need proof of your enrollment in the class.”

The frog leaves and returns with a ceramic panda. Ms. Wak isn’t sure this counts as proof of enrollment, but the frog insists, and so eventually the dean of financial aid is called in to resolve the dispute.

The dean takes one look at the panda and says, “It’s a knick-knack, Patty Wak. Give the frog a loan.”

Isn’t that awful? Isn’t that horrible? Don’t you hate me?

If not, I’ll be checking in with The Times every four to six weeks until you come to your senses.