I am a rather elderly 23-year-old man. The nature of my education for the last four years has brought me into more than ordinary contact with an interesting and somewhat singular set of men and women, of whom as yet nothing that I know of has ever been written. These are the St. Edward’s University accounting majors, and I am one of them.

At St. Edward’s, the accounting major is often revered as a mythical, unapproachable creature—a kelpie, if you will—that haunts its natural fluorescent office habitat with an ethereal presence bordering on the evanescent. The accounting major must live as a virtual hermit. The life of accounting requires a complete harmony with the debits and the credits. Just like St. Bridget with the bath water, it’s a life spent transmuting the form of the company into something that is as easy to imbibe as a hot beer on a cold winter day.

But the accountant’s life is not all fun and depreciation estimation methods. The accountant must live as a machine, stopping only to eat, sleep or when the clock strikes 5:00 p.m. I have seen things that no person should ever see. I have seen the face of the devil: a schedule for post-retirement benefits.

Romantically, no one understands how an accountant suffers. For example, the women that the accountant attracts are found almost exclusively at Walmarts. These women, though, are simply floozies. Despite shopping at the stores and therefore having a vested interest in the corporation, these women do not equate romance with Walmart’s corresponding financial statements.

Restaurants are even worse. Accounting majors have an intense love of upscale dining. Despite our best wishes, service has never been optimal. This is truly nonsensical. My accounting major compatriots and I always advise one half of the staff to quit when eating out, as they are only adding an unnecessary cost—the restaurant could eliminate these and still be meeting effectiveness while simultaneously improving the bottom line. Despite our best wishes, service has never shown improvement. The food is fine, though.

I hope you have learned more about the accounting major’s ways. You must understand the accounting major’s plight—it’s not all glory and TI89s. Much like a chocolaholic in semi-sweet surrender needs chocolate, so does the accountant need accounts.

So next time you see an accounting major, before you recoil in disgust, please try to treat him or her with the same respect you would show your best house cat, for the accounting major does not wish to be the way he or she is.