John Mather
Editor-in-Chief
Here’s a story of a wealthy man named Reginald:
Reggie, as he was known to his friends, studied dance at Ryerson. He was from prime pedigree: his father ran North America’s second largest personalized stationary company, and his mother descended for Basian royalty.
Every September, Reggie paid his tuition up front, in full, throwing in an extra $2,000 just because he just loved dancing so much.
So when Reggie heard of a proposed tuition split — where students could pay half their fees in September and the other half in January — he was outraged.
Reggie was a savvy businessman. He knew the school would lose money on interest if they didn’t collect all fees in September. Ryerson would also miss out on collecting late penalties from delinquents who couldn’t pay five Gs up front.
Reggie’s token poor friend Rudy said that a tuition split would let him make payments in line with OSAP — which is delivered every September and January.
Right now, Rudy explained, he has to take an extra bank loan every August. You see, Rudy has a summer job teaching blind children how to read Braille, but since his parents work as journalists, he supports himself entirely.
Reggie scoffed at his poor friend’s plight. “Quite simply, Rudy, you don’t understand the university business model,” he said. “A university needs to maximize profits at all costs. This split will cost $400,000. Think of someone other than yourself.”
With that, Reggie hopped into his Delorean and whizzed back to Rosedale. Later that night, Reggie went out to replenish his caviar supplies.
On the way, he was forced to swerve around Rudy, who was now working as a squeegee kid, and smashed his car and his right leg.
It had to be amputated.
He could dance no more.
The moral: Karma’s a bitch and only pompous snobs don’t want a tuition split.
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