You suddenly start laughing hysterically and you manage to choke through the tears streaming down your face, “but if I don’t get my financial aid, you aren’t getting any money. I won’t have any money to give; you guys just bled me dry.”

One would think that when a college (a state university at that) is trying to get tuition money, the Bursar’s Office would take payment any way they could get it. Not at the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee.

I don’t care if I walk my happy butt up to the cashier with bags full of pennies equaling the cost of my education. The cashier should thank me for coming in and giving them money and dutifully count each penny while being ecstatic that someone actually paid tuition.

At UWM, the Bursar’s Office makes it as difficult as possible to give them money. It is ridiculous. Maybe, deep down, UWM doesn’t really want us to pay for college.

Thanks, UWM, I will keep that in mind.

OK, here goes: if you want to pay online (it is the 21st century) you can pay by check for free or pay by credit card for a 2.5 percent “convenience fee.” The convenience fee is terribly inconvenient, but not nearly as inconvenient as the credit cards accepted. You can choose to pay UWM with either your MasterCard or your American Express.

Where is the option for Visa? What? UWM’s online payment system doesn’t accept Visa? Why not? Oh well, I guess I have to go in to the Bursar’s Office on the last acceptable day to pay the minimum deposit.

This is where the adventure begins.

At this point, anyone trying to pay tuition is a little irritated at the incredible inconvenience this has caused. So you go into Mitchell Hall, up to the second floor to find the line for the Bursar’s Office snaking through the hallways, around corners and through the jungles of South America.

You get in line, trying to think whether you have anything to do for the rest of the week, because this line is going nowhere quickly. Everyone in line is unable to move forward as each person’s right foot is occupied kicking his own butt for procrastinating.

Naturally, the little Abercrombie & Fitch-wearing bottle blonde in front of you is holding a spot for her boyfriend because he had to go smoke a joint with his friends, got the munchies and ran to Denny’s — and that was three hours ago.

Hell, he may have dropped out of college since then for all she knows.

Of course, the only way you know any of this is because she has been whining to her friend at the top of her lungs on her cell phone for the last two hours and 57 minutes.

After being in line long enough for the guy behind you to order pizza from Italy, you move up far enough to see a sign by the Bursar’s Office door, way in the front of the line. You ask the guy with the pizza sauce stain on his silk tie to hold your place in line as you volunteer to lead the expedition to read this mysterious sign.

The sign informs you that credit cards aren’t accepted, you can drop your check in the deposit slot without waiting in line and the office closes at 4:30. These are all things that we like to find out after waiting in line for three years.

You could have graduated by the time you got far enough to read the sign.

When you finally reach the cashier, you have liver spots, osteoporosis and you went through menopause about 30 yards back, but you are determined to give them your deposit: $200. The cashier looks exhausted because she, too, has been here since the jitterbug was popular, but she still manages a smile as she takes the last of your money and hands you a piece of paper to fill out and drop off in another office.

You fill out this piece of paper, sign it and hand it to the woman in the next office. “If your financial aid doesn’t come through, this assures that we will still get our money,” she says.

You suddenly start laughing hysterically, and you manage to choke through the tears streaming down your face, “but if I don’t get my financial aid, you aren’t getting any money. I won’t have any money to give; you guys just bled me dry.”

The girl rolls her eyes again, twists her hair around her finger and goes back to her gab-fest.

OK, some of the details from this tale of woe are slightly exaggerated (I don’t have liver spots yet), but the facts remain the same: UWM doesn’t take Visa, the sign was at the front of the line and I did have to fill out some asinine form.

Some days, I wonder if the people that run this college actually went to college themselves, because there are times when I can’t believe that to be true. The only thing that kept me from becoming suicidal during my stint in the Bursar’s Office line war zone was the company I had during my time served.

Thanks, funny guy with the “I’m a ninja, you can’t see me” shirt on. And you, cute guy who works at Brother’s, you made my time go by a little quicker. Not quicker, but definitely less painful. I will never forget you.

But you, UWM finance department, you can kiss my …

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