The good, the bad, the otherwise aesthetically challenged

The semester is just two weeks old, and at LD3C, this crop of 'flakes promises to provide amusement, at least.

Smacking

Toddler Tommy. You're a nonconformist. I get that. I mean, the hairdo, the offhanded references to Nietzsche in a beginning comp class, showing up a split second after the class begins to make an entrance. You are clearly different from every other 20-year-old I've ever encountered. Every. Other. The no-cell-phone policy applies to you, too. When I tell you to put it away, do you really think that just putting it under the desk with your palm over it means that I can't see it? When I'm staring at you with a questioning look on my face as you do this, do you really think the solution is to lower it one inch? And then another? And then another? (I'm not touching you. Does this bother you? I'm not touching you? See? See?) Finally, when I tell you to put it away, do you really think that putting your entire hand in your pocket with the cell phone--and keeping your hand there--means that you've won something?

Toddler Tommy, Redux. "I prefer to live my life, not write about it." Brilliant assertion on the first day of an expository writing class, Tommy. Frankly, I don't give a fuck what you prefer, although I am very grateful that you revealed from the get-go that you're as deep as a puddle. I enjoy knowing what I'm dealing with right from the start.

Morose Mona. How difficult your life must be! Two teenagers at home, and here you are in college! Thank you for the heads-up about inquiring, casually, about your well-being. When I ran into you in the hallway--when I was clearly in a hurry, rushing from class to a Very Important Meeting--and asked, "Hey! How are you?" I didn't expect to be physically detained and to be forced to listen to you go on about your little prison of your own making. Positioning yourself between me and the exit was pure brilliance. I feel very fortunate that you shine your beacon of misery every single time class meets, too.

Rolly-Eyed Ralph, Rita, Robert, and Richard--and the rest of your rolly-eyed cohort. The student in our class who expresses himself uniquely has a disability. That should be obvious even to idiots like you. Fortunately for all of you, this gifted student--and he is gifted--sits in the front of the room so he can't see your rolling eyes and snarky smiles. It's fortunate for you, because if you made him somehow feel out of place, I would rain verbal pain on you, each in private, in ways that you cannot possibly imagine because of my sunny classroom disposition. The irony, of course, is that he's a gazillion times more intelligent than any of you, and that his comments are incredibly insightful. He's also far more engaged than everyone else in the class. He has a sweet disposition, too. You know what that means? I like him a lot more than I like any of you. You're in luck; that won't affect your grades...but it will come in to play when you're trying to save your own sorry asses toward the end of the semester, after you've done so little work that you're barely passing, and my many posted office hours (that you've ignored all semester) are suddenly very inconvenient for you. I'll go out of my way for Gifted but Awkward Gary. I won't have time for people who think that it's okay to be mean to others.

Chatty Charlie. Yes, I know you have a lot to say. When I'm eliciting responses from the whole class and have to (very gently) cut you off because you're running on and on and on and I want others to participate, don't raise your hand and say, "I wasn't finished making my point before. What I meant to say was--" because that will get you cut off, again, with as much gentleness as I can muster.

Ms. Smith. That's what you told me to call you on the first day of class. I don't have any problem with that. It saves me from learning your first name, and I don't like you enough to want to learn your first name, anyway. I am delighted, however, that your follow-up behavior is meeting expectations. Texting in class, chatting loudly with your neighbor--constantly--coming in late (loudly), trying to submit late work (and expressing displeasure, loudly, when it's not accepted)...it's so gratifying to know that I was right. It will be equally gratifying the next time I have to talk to you about your disruptive behavior, because that means that you and your charming personality will be out the door. I've looked up your GPA. You're on probation. Being told to leave will not help your cause.

Emailing Eddy. No, I don't take work by email. Yes, the policy is in the syllabus. No, you can't turn it in late. Yes, that policy is in the syllabus, too. Yes, you should probably come to class. No, this isn't a correspondence course.

Anti-Smacking

Continuing Clara, Conrad, Cathy, and Clark. I'm very glad you've chosen to take this next course in the writing sequence with me. Each of you was delightful last semester. You worked hard, you came to class, you contributed to class, you brightened my days. Thank you for committing to another semester with me and for already exhibiting the great behavior that endeared you to me last semester.

Literary Larry, Insightful Ingrid, Funny Fred, Frank Frank, Subtle Sam, and Hard-Working Hal. You five stand out in an otherwise good class, making what promised to be a good class even better. You're nice, prepared students, interested in the subject matter, and your enthusiasm is contagious in the classroom. Larry, you're a little pretentious, but Insightful Ingrid thinks you're hot, so I understand why you play that card--but don't overplay it, okay?

Sane Students. That's pretty much most of you this semester, which makes the term better than I thought it would be after the first week. It also makes the annoying ones even more annoying. I'm impressed with your effort so far this semester. I promise I'll try to make the classes as interesting for all of us as they are instructive. Let's not screw this up.