Well, that didn't take long...

Holy tea party sticks, people. Four weeks into this little thing called "Fall Semester," and I'm ready to drink. Heavily. And look for work at the local P.O.--except, of course, that it may be closing.

Smackdown? Don't mind if I do.

Quirky Quinn: Every one of my utterances is not directed solely at you. You do not need to answer every single thing I say. This is not a personal conversation between just the two of us. Your self-proclaimed charm is lost on everyone but you. I grew tired of your Muppets tee-shirt--the one you wear every single day--after the second class. I grew tired of your office visits--every single day--after the second minute. No, we cannot have lunch together. No, you may not follow me to my car to ask me a question. No, I am not available to you from the moment you see me on campus. No, no, no, no, no. And I do not appreciate your new habit of camping out for my arrival, on the floor, outside my office door.

Helpful Hal: When you raise your hand in class, I naturally think that you have a question. After four weeks, however, I grow tired of calling on you because you have no questions; you, Hal, have all the answers. When I'm explaining something to someone in class, you helpfully chime in with your own explanations--which, as we saw today when others in the class voiced their irritation, are often so off base that they confuse the entire class. If you think you know more about Writing for Your Hamster Audience than I do, by all means, apply for the job and teach the class yourself. In the meantime, shut the tea party up. Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up.

Irritated Iris Oh, Iris, I know it's a chore to come to class. I know it's a chore to come on time. I know that Writing for Your Hamster Audience is a course that's beneath you. I know that you should be allowed to text all throughout class. I know that you should be allowed to nap in class. I know that you should be allowed to submit work late. Yes, I know...because your eye rolling and arm crossing and audible sighing and "tsk-ing" in class let me know that you are irritated. Here's what you don't know. You can do this all semester long, and I'll still get paid. You can do this all semester long, and I'll remain cheerful in class--so cheerful, in fact, that you'll be even more irritated than you are now. In fact, I'll enjoy irritating you every time I come into class. Yay, me!

Talkative Tom: Shut the tea party up. Seriously.

TMI Tammy: When a professor says to you, "Really, TMI," you've probably crossed a real line. I neither need nor want to know about your specific medical conditions. Loudly soliciting for a tampon in class? Really TMI. Really. Your martyrdom is also repulsive. There are people in class who suffer daily with medical conditions, people who never utter a word. They just get on with their lives and never use anything as an excuse. They're called "adults." If you weren't so obsessed with sharing the script for the reality show that is running inside your own head, you might find the time to take a cue from one of your classmates. STTPU.

Precious Proffieflake: So much of what you do feeds into the mockery of our profession. You questioned my syllabus for Hamster Literature of the Underdog Era because it doesn't include things that you teach when the course is in your precious little paws. What about The Cabinet of Canine Bliss? you asked--a memoir published a full 50 years before the start of the Underdog Era. Or The Folly of the Feline?--published a mere 30 years ago, many decades after the Underdog Era. Well, Precious, when the course description says, "Hamster Literature of the Underdog Era," and the "Underdog Era" is bookended by two very specific years in human history, guess what I'm going to teach? Yes! Literature that was actually published during the Underdog Era! Nothing before and nothing after! Why? Because I care about academic rigor, and articulation agreements, and--and I know this one is hard for you to grasp--teaching our students that the Underdog Era is actually the Underdog Era. I want them to leave this course knowing what it is supposed to be about--not just what I want to teach. And if you can't find enough literature within a specific movement or era to teach said movement or era, you shouldn't be teaching literature, period.