Upon arriving at Gatwick, after nearly 24 hours of waiting, flying, driving, thumb twiddling, I was edging my way through customs.
FSU was very sure to stress upon us the importance of showing the guy at the stand our letter of acceptance alongside our passports.
I trudged up to the twitchy man in the hard pressed navy suit. Clearly British. When I handed him my Seminole emblem’d letter he scoffed:
“Oh, I’ve seen about five bloody thousand of these this morning, don’t show me that. The spelling is atrocious, grammar a mess, and I hope to God whoever wrote this piece of filth shan’t be attempt to teach you communications.”