OP-ED: Have You Ever Even Heard of Trench Foot? Of Course My Shoes Being Wet Is A Valid Reason to Ask for An Extension

My uncompassionate lowlife of a psychology professor obviously does not know even the basics of World War I.

Come November, this campus always turns into sludge. It snows, and then the snow melts, and my feet get all wet. These are the conditions the heroes of World War I nobly fought and suffered in. The perils of their feet in the damp trenches left them with sore, infected, and painful peds. Surely, such a plight that left the bravest in agony does not allow for a paper to be optimal when inflicted upon a writer.

A day before the essay was due, my dogs weren’t just barkin’, they were howlin’. They were crying for me to change my wet socks, which I did, but to sit down to write a summary of a study about the effects of music on sleep with a crucial part of my body recovering from being damp was an insurmountable task. Feeling thankful for the solace of slippers which the men on the Western Front deserved but couldn’t have, I reached out to my professor and used my medical woe to request more time.

But she said “of course not.” What a fucking ignorant bitch. People died fighting for rights, or whatever it was, in those trenches against the enemy. Some had to get their feet amputated. Has she no decency? No respect?! Especially right after Veteran’s Day… how awful must you be to not acknowledge how trenchfoot could be affecting me at this very moment?

The sogginess of my tootsies impedes my valiant efforts to put words on a page, and the sheer balls that this historically inept sorry excuse for a professor has to deny me accommodation for a well-known foot ailment baffles me. She is the revisionist scum of the Earth that rejects the bravery of those who stood in the cold mud of battle.

My poor piggies roll around in the mud that leaks into my canvas shoes, leaving them wrinkled and all ouchie, and she does nothing. If only she knew the terror of having a potential for trench foot, maybe she would fall to her knees pleading for forgiveness for her foolishness, bestowing me with my deserved 48 extra hours as compensation for my basically war torn feet.