Yesterday, things went wrong. I was in irritating traffic, there was a ginormous line to go to the grocery store of all places, and I got to listen to my upstairs neighbor take a very loud bath/shower with a girlfriend all night long. But that was fine. I was still in light spirits about the whole thing. There was laughter.
But you know what? Today was different. Today was major suckage in most senses of the words. I had to lecture my class on manners, of all things; I had to spend my lunch hour talking to a racist punk; my computer (yes this one) crashed when I turned it on. Major. Suckage.
Here's the run down. Because I feel like it, and because why the flying fuck not?
The first day of classes, a teacher typically goes over policies. These are the "thou shalt not answer a cell phone in class, etc." rules that every student should know but still needs to hear each semester. They include not being rude, pretending to pay attention to the teacher, refraining from hitting each other like baby monkeys, and shutting up when told to. A typical teacher only goes over this lesson in basic human adulthood once in the semester, with the occasional need to highlight areas like cell phone usage and interrupting.
Also, each class is different. The same lesson plan goes very differently for different groups of punks - I mean students. Some students are, well, studious. They want to learn or are good fakers. They discuss at the appropriate times, are quiet at the appropriate times, understand that there's a time for levity and a time for gravity, and all that. They are often called the "good class." There are indifferent classes, who largely don't care what you do, so long as you don't ask much of them. These students tend to make poorer grades, to turn things in late, and to *not* discuss at the appropriate times. These are often referred to as the "bad class." But the "ugly class" is an entirely different entity. These are the monkey children who attempt to beat on their classmates. These are the ones who are incapable of any kind of productive groupwork, who resort to foul language rather than thought, and who generally refuse to resort to thought altogether, even when given no choice.
One can, I imagine, intuit what comes next.
Today, I gave my first mean lecture. I talked about respect, education, and maturity for 15 minutes. At least. I talked in a low, soft voice. I spoke slowly, and directly, meeting the eyes of every culpable student. I admit to having used threats as well. And here, I will recount why, exactly, my ugly class needed such junior high conversation.
Ranged in the back, in a corner, were three juvenile primates, each with enough whatever to get into college and through 1301. They spoke throughout class, and when I called on them, one by one, name by name, to answer, they sullenly came up with what I asked of them. Before returning to their talk. For those of you who know me in person, the expression I cast in their direction is familiar. I also walked over to lecture beside them, though much of the class had to turn uncomfortably in their seats to see me.
What, all this for talking?
Oh, no. No, my readers, not for talking. That was indeed disruptive to the class, but I allow a low murmur in bits and snips. I only call attention to continued, drawn-out talking of a volume to be distracting to students nearby. I keep a loose leash on my classes, and they reward me by discussing readily whenever I ask. Just talking wouldn't earn a lecture. It would earn an announcement that the time for talking was over, or an invitation to share.
No. There was another student sitting in front of these three. Every time that student said anything (and he was one of my more outspoken students), they made obscene gestures at his back, mimed smacking him upside the head, stuck their tongues out, and made faces. At first, they were reserved about it, obviously enjoying themselves, but keeping things somewhat discrete. I made plans to talk to them after class about their behavior.
Finally, though, enough was enough. I passed out topics for in class arguments, and the entire class (which had been more restive than usual the whole time) broke into a murmur. Then, as they couldn't hear one another, they began to talk outright, no group more so than the three primates in the back. I called them to order. No order. I tried once more, and the students I had last semester fell silent and watched me. The majority didn't twitch.
I set down my chalk and slowly made my way through the rows of students and bookbags to the center of the room. A few ripples of quiet ran through the room, and as I silently stood there, the entire room, save for the three in the back, gradually stopped talking. I remained centered in the room and silently watching until the leader of the group, who was responsible for most of the gestures, cocked his head at me and said "what?" as though I was interrupting something important. From there, I began the lecture.
I talked about respect, about the reciprocity of the word, and about how when they talked, I listened silently and actually heard what they said. I mentioned that everything any of them said in class discussion was turned into a discussion point, and how I demonstrated my respect for them constantly. I told them that I expected the same respect, and that any student not giving that to me would be told to leave the room.
I talked specifically to the group in the back, staring each one down as I informed them that they were behaving like preschoolers, and that if they were in college and wanted to be treated as adults, they'd have to act like it. I let them know that I wasn't blind, and that the next offence would be their one-way ticket out of my class.
I talked about what maturity meant, and that at this point in their lives, maturity was the name of the game.
I told them I didn't care what they did with their educations. That regardless of who paid for it, it was costly, and that if they wanted to sink themselves, they were welcome to it. However, I added, if they dared to disrupt the education of others in the class, they would be removed from the class, and that while I didn't care if they shot themselves in the foot, their disruptive behavior shot their neighbors' feet as well--something that made me irate.
In conclusion, I walked silently from the center of the room to the front and there was not a peep. Not even the usual murmur/snickering of "sheesh, we got the lecture." I asked them if they wanted to know how to make a good grade on the next assignment, and they were mostly afraid to raise their hands. The rest of class was understandably quiet, and they even packed up bags and left quietly.
So. There you have irritation number one in my day. Class from hell sinks my buoyancy and firmly grounds me in the "teaching sucks" mode of thought. But take heart. There's an hour to eat lunch before working with computers. Surely that's enough time to unwind. Begin laughing now.
There are two students who have "quick questions" and who can't make my office hours (which took place from too early in the morning to right up until class). Fine. I'll bite. And so I bit. The first one took roughly 30 minutes. I shudder to think what could happen if she ever had a "big question." The second student had more than a quick question. He had a huge problem.
He was one of the "those" students. You know the ones. I write about them occasionally. The ones who write that cloning is good, because we could have organ farms. Need a heart? Kill your clone. Insta-heart is ready for surgery in minutes. What's that? Your clone was getting married that afternoon? So what, you were the original. Since you were the same, why don't you marry her instead?
Yeah. But the subject wasn't cloning. It was racial diversity. As in, racial diversity is bad. Fully 3/4 of his paper was blatant racism against what was an "anonymous race A." Like no one could figure out he didn't like black people. I'd go into it, but I'm still upset. He was really adamant about the topic, and though I finally got him to switch over to gym class and martial arts, his attitude was downright offensive.
You know what else irked me during that "lunch hour?" The fact that of the 45 minutes I spent with this student discussing how his racist sentiments would win no arguments, he spent roughly 25 of those minutes staring at my breasts. Yes. I was ogled by a student during my generous lunch hour. Torn between slapping him upside the head and inching away from him, between calling him a racist pig to his face and telling him to take his topic and fly with it right into F-land, I just dealt. It was too much. Overload of shit. Let him think I didn't notice. I didn't care at the time. I was hungry (breakfast was a tin of fruit and a Millano cookie from LP the office mate), I was tired (the bath/shower fiasco last night with the "I want to hear you slapping against me, baby, ooh .... ughnn ...yeeessss!" sound track [and yes, that's a quote, unfortunately]), I was frustrated (by class previously), and I just didn't care at the moment.
I was over 90 minutes late to work. That's 90 extra minutes I get to work on Thursday. My boss is understanding, and my hours are officially flexible, but I like to get there on time, do my work, and leave there on time. I don't like being late. I really don't like being late and having wolf down my lunch. And I don't like crowded places.
What?
Oh, I mean the crowded places like grocery store parking lots, grocery stores, and the like. Yes, I went shopping. Yes, I spent my fair share of time waiting for cars to stop coming *in* so I could finally get *out*. You'd think they'd be happy to let me out, so they get more space to circle.
In short, after a bad day, I came home to blog about it. To check my email. To get up to date on my online comics collection. To do all sorts of relaxing shit.
I get home. I turn on the computer so it starts up while I put away my groceries. I come back to the computer to find a black screen sneering at me with white lettering. It says "screw you." Actually, it says Windows is some kind of broken, and that need to go through gobbledygook to fix it. I take a deep breath, let it out, and open the mini doughnuts. I'm glad I didn't buy the cake, or I'd have eaten the whole damn thing out of frustration, and wouldn't have enjoyed it at all. With the doughnuts, I only wasted three on anger. The rest will be savored.
50 minutes of gobbledygook later, Windows mysteriously started. I say mysteriously, because the gobbledygook gave me an error saying it had failed. The Blue Screen laughs at your pain. Then it started up, and all is fine. I am, of course, highly suspicious. I've no idea what happened, or how to replicate the success of the failure. I fear the next time my computer shuts down, it will be un-resurrectable. If I weren't so highly irritated right now, I'd call support and find out what that was. But I have notes, and I will try to save what's left of Singles Awareness Day by calling India some other time.
On top of this, my brakes are squealing at 20 mph, it's time to get me new inspection sticker, and I probably need new brake pads (likely cause of the squealing). So tomorrow, early in the morning, before anything else can go wrong, I am taking my little red car over to a recommended place to get the brakes checked and an inspection. Ra ra ra.
Anything else? Not yet. I'll blog from the office when my apartment burns down. Knock on wood.
End. (yeah, I don't quite feel like love and peace. deal.)
