Wednesday, December 8, 2010

I want the smacking to begin. I want the smacking to begin now.


Perhaps "smackdown" is what I'm really going for.

Courtney Come-Lately. So, your tragic life has prevented you from attending. You've been sick and you've got boyfriend trouble and your mom has been going through some shit and now your sister is getting all weird on you and your car has been acting up ... and now you want to know what you can do to pass. Sweetcakes, you've been MIA for the past month. You want to know what you can do to pass? Nothing. See, I've got this student who's literally homeless, and he gets his ass to class every day--rain, shine, sniffly or not--and he always has his work even though he doesn't have a computer ('cause he's homeless, couch-surfing wherever he can), and his family has imploded, and he never complains. He's the benchmark. Did I mention that he's homeless?

Significant Sam. I understand that you are too important for this class. You've made that clear all semester long. I've especially enjoyed your early departures, classes in which you declared, as you exited, that you had better things to do. (No, really, I did like those early departures. See, it meant you weren't in the room.) Now you want to know what you can do to pass, as you've missed not only a good deal of the work but a whole lot of instruction. Sweetcakes, there's nothing you can do to pass. Can I meet you this Friday, outside of my office hours, to discuss this? No. I have better things to do.

Lazy Lars. You, too, have been MIA for a couple of weeks. Now you're here to take the final. "What's the lowest grade I can get and still pass?" Sweetcakes, an A would be too low at this point. We also have a conference scheduled. "Is that conference for credit? I'm thinking of blowing it off." Oh, please, please do.

Shallow Shirley. Your observations about the psychic on the Tyra Show, the one who predicted the outcome of the last presidential election, made for very interesting reading. In the past two weeks, I've overheard you discuss--in class, when you should be doing group work--the benefits of elective cosmetic surgery ("for some girls, a nose job is really necessary, but you shouldn't get it done too young"), the cost of your cell phone plan ("I don't understand why my parents won't pay it"), the Twilight movies ("what's the next one, anyway?"), and your basic math homework ("I just don't get it and he's not very helpful"). Sweetcakes, when people ask me why I went into teaching, I think of you ... and I think of retirement.

Blunt Bruce. Thank you for your reaction to my response to what you said in class today. The look on your face was almost as uplifting as that half-gallon of coffee I downed this morning, just to get going. You said, "You don't know how much I look forward to this class ending. And I don't mean, like, today. I mean, like, ending fa real." I said, "Like, not as much as I am," and when you gave me that look, I said, "Fa real." Sweetcakes, I won't even remember you in three weeks.

3 comments:

  1. Thank you so much for achieving what seemed to be impossible at this point of the semester - making me laugh. I recognized my students in your descriptions in a way that's uncanny.

    It's great to know that my colleagues are going through the same crap I do.

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  2. How do these intellectual and social retards get along in society. Wait, let me guess: they don't.

    Back when I was in the navy, we had a saying: don't hassle your detailer. In other words, don't be rude to the people who will be deciding your next duty station: you might get a set of orders you wouldn't believe, like recycling crew in Thule, Greenland. Can't these pea-brains see that it's unwise to be mean to a teacher, before grades are assigned?

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  3. Our students must have a lot of siblings.

    Kind of along the lines of what Froderick said: wherever I've worked (in gov't or academia), I've learned never to mess with Payroll folks. A lot of these cognitively short-changed students will be, ummmm, short-changed later.

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