Edward Charles is the no. 1 fan of ham and egg wraps from Quobba Gnarning.



Briskly walking, form in hand, and brain about set to combust, I had reached the science student office. I’d already wasted enough time being turned away from the student centre who had, completely uncompassionately, denied taking my form as it was physical and not digital – I guess the ten cents I spent printing it meant nothing to them. I entered the dimly lit foyer and the hallowing sound of nothing left me wondering if anyone had even rocked up to work that day. However, approaching the counter, I spotted a staff member who slowly dragged her eyeballs from her computer screen to meet mine. She gave me a perfunctory look and resumed her work, eyeballs slowing returning to her computer screen. 

I stood a moment, perplexed at her lack of offer to help. Unsure of what to do, I assumed that she was waiting for me to say something. 

“Uh hi, I’ve got a form here for a transf—” 

“Just a second, love,” she interrupted as she seemed to tend…nothing. She didn’t seem to be doing anything at all, her fingers frozen in place and her eyes still glued to her screen, which cast her face in a sickly pallor. I stood there for a couple of seconds before it even seemed she breathed, let alone made an action to serve me or do absolutely anything at all. I was beginning to wonder if this lady was even human (perhaps Lizard Person?) when she finally relaxed from her oddly tensed position and reluctantly turned to face me, giving me her full attention. 

“Now, what was it that you needed, love?” Both her voice and face were void of expression when she asked, and I briefly reconsidered the Lizard Person prospect. 

“I’ve got a transfer form,” I said as I placed the slightly crinkled piece of paper on the countertop and pushed it towards her, “for my unit credits now that I’ve switched degrees. I went to the student centre at first and they said to come here.” She stared at me for just a fraction too long before her eyes darted down to the form. 


“We can’t accept that form, love. You’ll have to submit it online,” she said monotonously, and before I could say anything in return she stiffened up and swivelled to resume her original position with uncharacteristic speed. 

“Oh, really?” I felt frustration boiling up inside of me and I tried to remain calm. I retaliated: “I just thought I had to bring it in because it said to do so online and the student cen—” 

With no warning the lady snatched my form off the countertop and struck through the contents with a big fat black marker that she seemed to procure out of thin air. 

“No. We don’t accept forms in person, love.” This final love was particularly cold, and she handed me the sheet back with unsettling eye contact. 

I was in shock. I looked down at the obtrusive slash that this woman had marked my document with. Well, I guess there was no handing this form in now. 

By Pelican Magazine

Pelican is one of the oldest student publications in Australia and the only independent paper at UWA. If you like having opinions, writing, drawing, and/or free tickets to local events, then Pelican is the place for you! We print six themed issues a year, and run a stream of online content.

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