I decided to take a couple of classes this summer, mainly because I really needed another science class to finish off my associate degree. Science has never been my stronghold. The only thing I ever understood about science was volcanoes, and that was just because I made one out of clay every single year. Because of that, I am now an expert on volcanoes.

For example, I know that to make a volcano erupt, God pours the perfect combination of baking soda and vinegar into the hole at the top of the volcano, a hole which exists because God stuck his finger in the top when the earth was still moldable. When the volcano juice (as it’s known in the scientific community) spills out of the top of a volcano, it usually comes out a lot faster than anyone expected and gets all over the table and spills on somebody’s pants, leaving a sour-smelling stain right between the legs. That person will then spend the rest of the day trying to convince others that the stain is not a result of bladder complications.

My clay volcanoes never failed to get me a good science grade, until that fateful day in 10th-grade biology when I tried to turn another volcano in as my final project. My teacher was one of those obnoxious young teachers who thought his efforts in the classroom were going to inspire us to accomplish great things in life. He put his whole heart and soul all year into trying to help us to appreciate the wonders of living organisms, to realize the beauty of a blood-flow system, to grasp the majesty and magnitude of a cell. Boy, was he disappointed when I turned in a clay volcano for my final project.

I had a friend who took that class from the same teacher the next year. He said all they did was watch videos.

Knowing science was going to be a major hurdle, I spent four hours on www.ratemyprofessors.com, trying to find the easiest professor I could. I kept reading reviews that would say things like:

“This professor is excellent! He makes you earn your grade but he is worth it!”

“Best professor ever! I grew so much in his class! He made us work really hard but I grew a lot!”

I don’t need anything like that. My attitude toward science class is “just give me my freakin’ credit and let me get out of here.” Finally, I found the professor review I was looking for. It read, “This professor is boring as snot but it’s an easy A.”

Perfect! Sign me up!

I registered for that professor’s class without even knowing what the subject was. I didn’t care. Supposedly it was the easiest way out and I was sticking with it. I was talking with a friend about three weeks into the course, and she asked me what class it was. Honestly, I still wasn’t sure.

“You don’t have any idea what class it is?” she asked.

“Well, the classroom has posters of zebras, the Periodic Table of Elements and some chemistry test tubes. So, unless it’s about mixing those items to make superheroes, I have no idea.”

I guess if I can’t even figure out what class I am in, I should be in the easiest class possible. I just really hope nobody notices that sour-smelling stain on my pants.