I didn’t sleep well. In addition to going to bed late, I was pissed to be stuck in solitary confinement. More importantly, though, I was nervous for Connor. Unlike Nick and myself, Connor was actually receiving credit for attending SAS, seeing as his school has a reasonable study abroad policy. While I wasn’t afraid of the prospect of expulsion, I really did not want Connor to lose his credits. I decided to steer as much blame as I could away from Connor and toward myself during that afternoon’s meeting.
My day was pretty uneventful until my afternoon meeting. Class was fine, but everyone was asking me questions about why I’d come back late and what was happening with me. Diane was really supportive, though, and told me to ask her if I need anything.
After class I had lunch with Derek and a few other people, which was fun, but I could only stay a half hour. I hated the time and space limitations, they really blew. After lunch I just waited in my room for the afternoon meeting, but I left the room confident I’d have things settled.
Unfortunately, my confidence was totally misplaced. The meeting was terrible. I started by thanking them for seeing me and apologizing for my attire (I was wearing a white tee and shorts), noting that my formal clothes were in my room but I took the meeting very seriously. I was immediately cut off, being told that my attire “was the least of my problems” and that I was “in huge trouble.”
I basically spend the next half hour being attacked my Cynthia and Dean Laurence. Laurence opened by saying “I was fuming mad last night, and I’m not done fuming.” This immediately sent up red flags for me, as I wondered why an administrator with over 30 years of experience would make judiciary decisions while admittedly “fuming mad” at the accused student.
Now I promised you, dear readers, that you’d see why telling people at the market about our soccer game plans would prove to be important. Through the grapevine, “we might be late” turned into “we’re coming back late on purpose.” And that was the Cynthia and Laurence’s running assumption, that we came back late as some sort of “fuck you” to the ship’s administration.
I tied to explain that we weren’t trying to be late, but simply recognized that returning late was a possibility. If you leave the ship the last day in port, you have to recognize that there is a possibility you’ll return late, no matter what you do. In this case, we told people our plans because we recognized the possibility we’d be late was higher than average.
Unfortunately, they weren’t buying it. I was accused of lying, by both Cynthia and Laurence. I was further chastised for not showing remorse. Why would I show remorse for malicious intentions I did not have, particularly when I’m also being accused of lying? To top it off, we were criticized for not calling the ship and informing them as to whereabouts, which was the whole point of telling people in the marketplace about our plans.
Because they weren’t buying my story, I decided to turn to the handbook. This seemed like the right move, as our punishment seemed far more excessive than what the handbook dictates for late arrivals (we should have received 12 hours dock time, according to the handbook). In addition, Laurence had strongly encouraged us to familiarize ourselves with the Voyager’s Handbook at the start of the voyage, telling us we’d be prudent “to know our rights.”
He sure sang a different tune in our meeting, though, as he mockingly said “I can see we’re dealing with a lawyer” when I tried to read from the handbook. He then told me “I can quote the handbook, too,” for whatever that’s worth.
The meeting ended with Cynthia telling me, once again, that I wouldn’t be having any fun for the rest of the voyage. Cynthia and Laurence reiterated that we’d likely be expelled, but another meeting was scheduled for the following morning.
After thanking them for their time I returned to my room, fighting back tears of frustration. I spent the next 10 minutes yelling and punching my bed. I spent another 20 just sitting around, stewing. They wouldn’t listen to my side of the story, they wouldn’t listen to the handbook, and they were admittedly “fuming mad” at me. I was screwed.
Thankfully, my next class was painting, and Hana was exceptionally supportive. She asked Nick and me what was going on, and, after hearing the story, said our treatment was “ridiculous” and promised to do something about it. Apparently, a lot of the faculty was at odds with the administration, and she promised to speak to Cynthia and Laurence on our behalf.
I was still pretty upset by the time I returned to my room, though, and I brainstormed as to what I could to get out of that damn room. I emailed Diane and the Bobster, and asked them to speak to the administration on our behalf, as well. I also emailed my parents and asked them to call the ISE. Luckily, there were people with more authority than Cynthia and Laurence. Unfortunately, there were in Virginia, and we were in the middle of the Pacific.
I went to dinner and saw Amy and her friends. They were eating at one of my four available tables, so I decided to join them. The final coffee house was that night, and they asked if I’d be able to perform. Sadly, I told them, I could not. One of the guys then proposed that I perform via walkie-talkie, which would have been super badass, but I didn’t want to piss off the administration any further than I already had. Now, though, I wish I’d done it. It would have been awesome.
As dinner was winding down, Amanda asked me about my living situation. “So you’re in solitary confinement, right? Does that mean you have a single?” Yes it does, baby.
So we went back to my room, and, after a brief tour, started to make out. Pretty pumped I scored a conjugal visit.
But suddenly, there was a knock on the door. Amy grabbed her shoes and hid in the bathroom. It was Cynthia, just checking in to make sure I was in my room. God I hate her. Once she left, Amy and I cuddled for a while, laughing in both relief and at the hilarity of the situation.
Eventually Amy snuck out to go to the coffee house. I tried to watch it, but it just made me sad. I felt so bad that I couldn’t perform with Tolan and Derek, I really felt like I let them both down. But they actually ended up playing a part of the Ballad of Jedediah in my honor. I didn’t catch it live, but saw it later. Certainly tugged on the ol’ heartstrings.
Before I went to bed, I got an email, forwarded from Nick, that his dad had contacted the ISE. The person he spoke to was alarmed by the situation, saying our punishment was extremely harsh and certainly not standard procedure. He informed Nick’s dad that he be contacting the ship immediately. So I went to bed cautiously relieved, hoping this guy would keep Cynthia and Laurence in check.
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