If I could TRULY smack them, I would

Ragey Rick: You know, I didn’t think you had it in you. Seriously. You’ve been sitting in your seat for the past month, saying nothing, with such a dead look on that puss of yours that I actually thought you were heavily medicated. The fact that you turned in absolutely no homework only strengthened that suspicion. Obviously, you were not. All. There.

Imagine my surprise when you actually showed up for your rough draft conference, all wound up, your lips pursed white, already nursing some sort of grudge, it seems. Your rough draft was a third the length it needed to be, and while I tried to help you with what you had, I also explained that this meant you would lose a grade off of your final draft. You were not happy, I could see, but you kept it to yourself.

When you came to your grading conference, the first thing I noticed was that your final draft, though the appropriate length, did not have the proper required heading. Failure to include the proper heading (such as, oh, your NAME and other important things) results, as per the syllabus, in a one grade deduction from the final paper. When I informed you of this, well, you finally blew your top.

“THAT MEANS I WILL ONLY BE ABLE TO GET A C MAXIMUM ON MY ESSAY!” you shouted.

“Why yes, yes it does…” I said calmly, and I informed you again that I did not even grade papers that were not headed properly, so you would have to resubmit. There would be no late penalty for the late submission, but you would not receive a grade until your paper was properly headed.

“THANKS A LOT!” you shouted again, snatching up your things and storming out.

Then, “Next!” I called to the student waiting in the hall.

Later that afternoon you showed up again, your face wrenched into a mask of frustration and repressed fury. No apologies for your outburst. No apparent regret. Nor did you care that I was with another student at the time

“I can’t get this paper to send,” you announced, shoving your thumb drive at me. It was obvious then that you wanted me to accept…your thumb drive. Well, Ragey Rick, I don’t accept thumb drives.

“You’ll have to submit that on Blackboard,” I said.

“I tried but it won’t submit!” you were nearly yelling again.

I immediately pulled up Blackboard. “Well, blackboard seems to be working just fine, here,” I told you, “why, here is the assignment page…”

You stalked off again, and finally submitted your work. The heading was still off, but I was afraid if I told you that you’d try to pull my head off with your bare hands. 

Here’s your D, Ragey Rick. Let’s just hope you climb up that clock tower on a day I’m not at school.

Thick Thaddeus: Ah, Thaddeus…another person who’s never turned in work. You sit at the back, next to some girl you seem to like talking to, and haven’t seemed to assimilate yet that your ass sitting in a seat in my class won’t translate into a C. When I mentioned in class last week that the last day to drop without receiving a WP or a WF was coming up, and that I don’t give WPs to students that are failing, your ears perked up at last.

You followed me back to my office, a hangdog look on your face instead of your customary smirk. Then you tried to tell me that you have a problem when you read…your problem is that you just can’t seem to retain anything, even simple facts. You can read and read but you just can’t remember anything from what you’ve read, which is why you haven’t attempted any homework yet.

“Are you trying to tell me that you’re retarded?” I wanted to ask you, but I didn’t. It’s obvious you are not retarded, because truly mentally handicapped people actually seem to make an effort. Instead I offered you a lot of advice I know you won’t take, such as actually taking notes, and not trying to read while you’re watching television, texting, surfing the net, or flirting with some girl you want to screw. Well, I left out that last part but you get the idea. You left, promising to do better, after which you promptly ignored the next homework assignment. Too bad they don’t give out accommodations for being a lazy dimwit, or you’d be first in line.

Dapper Dan: You show up each day in your Sunday best, perfectly coiffed, clean and pressed, clutching an important-looking portfolio. I’d assume you were a Mormon, but Mormons are fairly perky and usually don’t sleep through everything. What’s the point of dressing for success if everyone is going to assume you have narcolepsy? We’re having our first big test next week and you have yet to submit one single thing. When questioned about the text in class you shake your head slowly, then go back to sleep. ‘Night ‘night, Dan. Enjoy your F.