Java (no, not the coffee)

Remember those Java classes I took once upon a time? Of course you do(n’t).

Although it didn’t seem like it at that time, they were actually moving towards some tangible goal – the SCJP exam. Which, incidentally, I found myself preparing for a couple of weeks ago despite it being several months since the classes had come to their inconsequential end. Ah well, better late than never as they say.

Despite my distinct lack of love for the language (object-oriented obsession, anyone?), the nature of the exam (I am not a compiler), and its questionable use from my point of view (there’s better stuff out there!) Feb 16 found me duly surveying the locked door to a Prometric testing center.

In the spirit of organization, I had already asked the in-charge what I’d need to bring for identity verification. Of course, the universe delights in snatching opportunities (imagined or otherwise) that enable people to pat themselves on their backs, and so I was told that I would need to get my passport photocopied.

Which I did, and consequently found myself in front of the Prometric center’s door once again.

Then I was told to get my now-famous learner’s license photocopied.

Which I did, and once again found myself surveying the now all-too-familiar Door (which by now had been elevated to capital-letter status).

Then I was made to go to my teacher and get my (nonexistent) ID from him. My teacher, by the way, who hadn’t seen or heard of me for six months and had also pointedly ignored all my electronic pleas for advice on the exam, greeted me like he totally knew who I was.

So this time I breezed into the Prometric room, giving the Door quite a cold shoulder. I was made to sign in a dozen different places (I compromised by making subtly different variations of my signature). They even took my thumbprint (do I really look like a terrorist?)

Then I was led through a hitherto unseen door into a room lined with terminals guarded by a black and white camera. All was silent as I shifted the monitor, keyboard, mouse and my chair by a few arbitrary millimeters, stared at my watch and examined the sheet I was to use for rough work.

Then I turned to the screen and began reading the first question.

Which was when the in-charge sitting outside began getting ever so many phone calls (including one from someone with my name - I spent several consequent minutes wondering if I was being spoken to) and I realized exactly how sound-proof the exam room wasn’t.

Oh, and three hours later, I found that I had passed.

PS: If you ever get the feeling that the monitor in a Prometric center is a tad too close to your face, whatever you do, DO NOT PUSH IT BACKWARDS!

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