FEB 2024 - Bond Paper

In 1968, masters’ theses had to be typed on a typewriter with carbons to make copies. To correct mistakes, one had to use whiteout, then type in the correction and hope it looked like there’d been no error—a tedious process at best. I wasn’t a good enough typist to type my thesis so I hired one. I picked up the copies, signed my name, and drove to the University of Delaware Graduate School Office a few hours before the noon deadline.

I had to wait in line to hand in the copies of my thesis and have it checked by an administrator. When it was my turn, I expected her to look it over, have me sign the acceptance document, and leave. Instead, she looked at what I’d handed her and said, “This isn’t acceptable. It has to be on bond paper, not typing paper. If you want to graduate with your class you’ll have to hand in the appropriate copies before noon.”

I was so shocked I stood there trying to make sense of what she’d said. “Couldn’t you approve this and I’ll take a copy and . . .”

She interrupted me. “The rules are quite clear. All theses must be submitted on bond paper before twelve o’clock today. Surely you read the requirements.”

I couldn’t remember what I’d read. I couldn’t think. My boyfriend, who worked for a large corporation, had asked me to call him when my thesis had been submitted so he could congratulate me. Instead, I called him, too distraught to clearly explain what happened

 He was quick to respond. “Come to my building. I’ll empty a copier and we can make however many copies you need on bond paper.” I was grateful for his help but scared that I didn’t have enough time. It was half an hour from the university to where he worked.

 “I’ll be there as quick as I can.” He gave me a code to give the guard so I didn’t have to worry about parking. It’s a wonder I didn’t get stopped by the police as I zoomed way above the speed limit into Wilmington yet I felt I wasn’t going fast enough. I gave the guard the code and left my car running as I rushed into the building. 

Time was moving too fast. Everything was taking too long. I felt speeded up and slowed down. He met me at the elevator and grabbed my thesis. A bunch of his colleagues were standing by the copier, papers in hand, looking aggrieved. I told him how many copies I needed. While he was busy with the copier, I apologized to the men waiting. To assuage their upsetness I told them my sad tale of woe. 

It seemed to take forever. I kept looking at my watch. When I had the collated copies in hand, I muttered thanks and ran. I yelled to the guard that I needed my car and told him what kind it was.
It took forever for him to bring it around. 

I drove back down to the university like a crazy woman, going through red lights, speeding in slow zones. Time was not on my side. 

I couldn’t wait to find a parking space so I parked in a no-parking zone with my blinkers on and rushed to the Graduate School Office. According to the clock on the wall it was one minute after twelve. The administrator was closing the door. I pushed it open and handed her my thesis on bond paper.

“It’s after twelve,” she said. 

“Only a minute or so. Please!” I begged. With no energy left, even to stand, I crumpled to the floor.

It seemed to take forever before she responded. “All right,” she said reluctantly, “I’ll make an exception, but don’t count on it happening again. As far as anyone knows, you arrived before noon.”

I graduated on time, with an MA in Theatre. 


Have you experienced a time constraint with serious consequences if you didn’t meet the deadline? If so, what was that like?

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