Money for Nothing.

Woohoo!
My grant cheque is ready for collection.
Given my previous status of unemployment, I am fortunate enough to have qualified for the state-funded Student Maintenance Grant.
This makes a hugely important contribution to my ability to survive the next few years of study.
I have a substantial mortgage on an overpriced property that I would not have a hope in hell of selling in the current economic climate.
So I am stuck with it for the next few years and can only pray that by the time I graduate either the property market has recovered considerably or I have won the lotto.
Though I'm not very optimistic about either scenario.
Because I am a realist.
And an atheist.

At 11am, I make my way over to the Student Office, take my ticket and join the queue.
Number 65.
I glance up at the digital display which reads '45'.
There are 20 people in front of me and I have a lecture in an hour from now.
And there is only one staff member on the desk.
Dispirited, I stick my nose into one of my text books, determined to use the time efficiently.
We have only progressed to 47 by the time 10 minutes have passed when thankfully 2 more staff appear from what I assume was their mid-morning break.
The queue starts moving quickly and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Then the original staff member disappears on his break and the progress slows again.
In answer to the question: 'How do you take your coffee? ''In shifts!' must be their reply. 

It is 11.45 by the time '65' flashes up on the board.
I'm feeling upbeat.
There's nothing like the prospect of a little unearned income to put a spring in the step.
And I'll still be on time for my lecture.
I jump up from my seat and approach the friendly young girl at the desk.
I plop myself down in front of her.
'Show me the money!' I announce with a laugh, a little louder than I have rehearsed in my mind.
She looks a little startled.
Her colleague's eyes shoot up sharply from his paperwork.
I suddenly realise I have my right hand in my jacket pocket.
I have merely been toying with my mobile phone but I am only too aware how this situation could easily be misinterpreted.
It doesn't look good.
Especially in light of the fact the famous Jerry Maguire line is probably lost on her.
I estimate she would have been about 8 years old at the time of the film's release.
I quickly pull my hand out of my pocket and the girl recoils instinctively.
'Oh my God!' I say, despite my atheism, 'It was a joke.'
I place both my hands apologetically on the desk in full view of everyone.
I suddenly get the feeling I have become the object of attention for the entire assembly.
The queue at my back is mumbling as an entity and there can be little question about the subject matter.
The girl behind the desk is eyeing me suspiciously, no doubt calculating the level of threat I pose.
'I've come to collect my grant cheque,' I genially inform her, hoping she hasn't already pressed the emergency button I suspect sits just below the desk.
There is an excruciatingly awkward pause.
'Student number?' she snaps.
She doesn't seem quite so friendly now.
I reach inside my handbag and I sense her flinching.
Slowly and cautiously, I take out my purse, remove my student card from the side compartment and hand it to her.
I am burning with humiliation.
More at my misguided attempts at humour than any semblance I may have to a felon.
After scanning my card she leaves the desk, walks behind a partition and is lost from my sight.
My pulse quickens.
'What's she doing?' I ask myself.
She's gone too long.
My heart starts pounding.
I can feel tiny beads of perspiration accumulating on my upper lip. 
'Christ!' I think to myself, 'why can't I keep my bloody big mouth closed?'
Visions are now racing through my over-active imagination: I see myself thrown in a cell; questioned for hours on end; given the 'good cop/bad cop' treatment; starved of food and water; denied my one precious phone call; deprived of sleep; pushed to the limit where I'll sign anything in exchange for coffee, a doughnut and 40 winks.
I'm just at the point where bad cop is bending over me with an evil grin and a pair of pliers when the girl reappears from behind the partition.
'Here's your cheque!' she smiles, handing me an envelope.
'Oh, thank-you!' I gush.
She seems bemused by my effusive gratitude.
But she has no idea what mental torture I've just subjected myself to.
I nearly throw my arms around her and kiss her.
I manage to restrain myself, however.
After all, I don't want to get arrested!

©Alacoque Doyle