Right, brace yourself. This is a post purely dedicated to one ginormous MOAN.
If you follow me on social media, you may have seen/heard me wittering on about the stupid exam I had to sit today. You may also have seen in my “Other Goals” section of my previous post that I wanted to study for and sit my BTX (not BTW) exam this week.
Well, Saturday, Sunday and Monday were all ruined by me having to cram for this stupid exam. I stayed up late last night, cramming rules for the disposal of shares by partnerships and sole traders until the wee hours of the morning. I got up insanely early this morning and headed down to Cafe Nero, where I spent £5 on a mediocre hot chocolate and a fairly awful piece of lemon drizzle cake (serves me right for having chocolate and cake for breakfast, that wasn’t on my weekly goals list!).
I arrived at the exam for 9.20 am, where the receptionist told me my exam was last week. I was prepared for this – oh no, I said, it was definitely today – I rang up and rearranged it because I was starting a new job last week. Ahh, ok, she said. There was a blank space next to a BTX exam this morning, so that must be you. Sorry about that. Here’s your keycode for your exam.
So I took my keycode into my exam. I sat down at the laptop. I put in the keycode and confirmed that all of the information about me was correct (Menekse Stewart, 20/9/90, BTX, Student ID number). The assessment started. I broke out into a cold sweat. The next 2 hours were spent in anguish and toil as I made sure every figure was as correct as I could get it, calculating and recalculating the capital allowance on assets qualifying for a myriad of tax reliefs. Finding out how much assessable profit new partners earned in the first 4 years of business (not as straightforward as you might think – thanks HMRC).
I finished the assessment having used 1hr 58mins of the available 2 hours. I pressed the “Finish” button, and then confirmed that I definitely did want to “Finish”.
All of a sudden, something new popped into my life! A dialogue box telling me that I was not competent. Well, you can imagine the surprise – not only a dialogue box, but a dialogue box insulting me.
I left the examination room feeling somewhat confused, with my not-very-big-at-the-best-of-times ego deflated to say the least. What was this madness? I’m not supposed to get exam results for 6 weeks because 30% of it is marked by a human. How had this computer given me a result immediately? Was this some kind of new, fandangledy computer that I’d never heard of before?
I went to the reception, where the lovely lady who works on the reception desk gave me a breakdown of my failings. My confusion mounted – what is this? I don’t get results for 6 weeks normally. Off the lady trotted to speak to her esteemed colleagues about the matter.
Ten minutes later, the centre manager comes over. He points to the piece of paper (given to him by the now hysterical receptionist lady) apologetically. Due to an administrative error, I have in fact, spent the last 2 hours of my life sweating over a PRACTICE ASSESSMENT. I have spent the past 3 days of my life preparing for a practice assessment. I have taken the morning off my new job for a practice assessment. I have spent £5 in Cafe Nero on a mediocre hot chocolate and a fairly awful piece of lemon drizzle cake for a practice assessment. I have forfeited the gym this morning for a practice assessment. My weekly goals (that’s right, PLURAL goals) have been sabotaged by a practice assessment. Another weekend will be ruined because. of. a. practice. assessment.
Sitting the *actual* exam next Monday at 2.30pm.
P. S. Before any of my fellow optimists say “Well it’s good actually because you were “Not Competent” so at least you’ll get to revise some more: this is not a valid bright side. 30% of the result is marked manually. By the time the manual portion had been humanly marked, I would so totally have passed. THERE IS NO BRIGHT SIDE.