A beautiful PowerPoint title slide created inside of a PJ's Coffee by the wonderful and beautiful Maddie Scott.
A beautiful PowerPoint title slide created inside of a PJ's Coffee by the wonderful and beautiful Maddie Scott.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, write down an article idea and fall back asleep. The other night, I jotted down “rate PowerPoint transitions.” I have no memory of writing this, but I have to deliver. Here’s my list of the top five best PowerPoint transitions.
This one is good. The simplicity, yet uniqueness is how this transition made it on the list. It reminds me of when my life flashed before me: I was sixteen and made eye contact with a homeless man urinating in an Arby’s parking lot dumpster. He started to walk over to me but my mom floored our minivan before he could say anything. This one goes out to you, dumpsterman. I rate this transition a 5.2/10.
This one is rather exquisite. The previous slide folds into a dainty, origami bird, to which the bird flies away, unveiling the next slide. It takes me back to my middle school days when kids were making origami fortunetellers left and right. One time, this kid told me to pick a color, then a number 1-7 and then a second number. He lifted the flap and then told me I was going to die from farting out my insides, and then he barked at me. I rate this one a 6/10.
Box. I had a to-go box once. My family’s idea of a fancy dinner was the Olive Garden, and I brought back this beautiful to-go box containing half a chicken parmesan meal. As if I was a Renaissance sculptor, I carefully carved my name onto the Styrofoam to-go box in all capitals, foolishly thinking a label would protect my Italian cuisine.
The next day, my chicken parm was gone, nowhere to be seen. After interrogating my family, my brother confessed that he ate it. When my eyes stare deep into this PowerPoint transition, all I see is my name etched in the chicken parm to-go box, and the emptiness inside not only in the box, but the emptiness inside of me. The box transition gets a 6.5/10.
This transition takes me back to junior high, a place where rumors spread faster than the biannual sinus infection, and when kids crusaded faster to the lunch line than they ever would in the mile run.
My insecurity was unmanageable. I was thirteen, and my angst needed an outlet. What was that you may ask? Writing Club. I went to Room 301 every Wednesday lunch period, bringing my Taco Tuesday meal (the meat burning holes through my Styrofoam plate) and listened to my peers read aloud their original work.
A particularly debilitating memory I have is when one girl recited her original go at a sexually charged fan-fiction about Harley Quinn and the Joker, two comic book characters from the DC comics.
She sat in her desk, hunched over her notebook, reading her Wattpad fantasies even doing character voices for the erotic dialogue. When the voice impressions (and sounds) started, everyone immediately stopped eating, not out of amazement, but out of nausea from the explicit graphics she described in extreme detail. The teacher had the most helpless expression I’ve ever seen on a seventh grade teacher’s face.
This transition is poetic and mysterious, like the many pages read aloud in room 301. It gets an 8/10.
I was doing my business in the bathroom at elementary school in the second grade. I pulled open the plastic, bathroom stall door, the creak of the rusty hinges bounced off the porcelain tiled walls, echoing throughout the room.
The toilet was filled with preexisting wads of toilet paper, so I took one for the team and flushed it down before using it. I then finished the business I came in for, washed my hands unlike every other second grader and retuned to recess.
Next thing I knew, children were evacuating the building and claimed the bathroom was flooding with gargantuan amounts of toilet water, toilet paper and human waste.
I confessed to the teacher that it was I who pulled the trigger to this diabolical crime, but I was not the maker. My 80 pound body was not capable of such impressively vast destruction. The other kids didn’t believe my defense that I didn’t clog the toilet with my own bowel issues so they all called me “poo-poo girl,” and I cried.
My reputation fractured that day. And so did the sewage pipes. 10/10.
Maddie Scott is a 19-year-old journalism and history sophomore from Covington
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