Out of the Woodwork
I'm pretty much out of patience right about now. I've spent approximately nine months dealing with all sorts or morons, and with only a few more classes to go, I'm done. And lucky for me, right now is the time when all of these dopes come out of the woodwork in full force.
Here's what I mean.
First, you have the spring fashions. I already wrote something about this, but due to censorship, I had to take it down. But it's still worth mentioning and having its own place in Roomus World, so here it is again. Basically, too many girls are in denial about their size. Listen, it's okay, you gained the freshman/sophomore/junior/senior fifteen... every year, perhaps. Therefore, the clothes you bought a year ago, that were too small to begin with? DEFINITELY too small now. I'm sorry, but I don't want to see a stretch-marked gut hanging over a sweatband of a skirt. I know I'm not alone.
Second, you've got the class evaluations. And here's what usually happens. Because the professor can't read them until after the class is over and grades are returned, they ask us inclass to tell them what we think of it. This always brings up the following situations:
1. The kid who wants to better his grade. There's always someone in the class who thinks that telling the professor that he is brilliant will get him a better grade in the class. So for about five minutes, we have to hear about how this course changed this kid's outlook on his major and his life. If you have a good professor, the professor's not buying it and is just as uncomfortable as the rest of the class having to listen to this crap, but if you have a bad professor, you're in for a trip. Because here's what happens now:
1a. The professor starts asking this kid - who at this point would nominate the professor for a Nobel Prize - follow-up questions, like, "So you really DID like reading all of The Inferno in one night?" or "My lecture on the life of red African ants on the forty-first hill of the Sahara desert was really life-altering?" just to feel even better about himself. At this point, you pretty much decide that your evaluation will be scathing, just to balance this freak out.
2. The next situation is the most entertaining. In every class, there's a kid who argues with the professor. He's this mysterious kid who once in a while probably has a pretty decent point to make, but he makes his whole educational career out of sulking in the back and acting like he's superior to everyone else. Then, when this time comes, he basically bashes everything the professor did, said, and wore. It's alwasy fun to see how far the kid (and the professor) will take this debate. I once had a kid in a class who told a professor, "You were unprepared for class, your lectures made me fall asleep, and your expertise in this subject area is questionable at best." I don't think I even have the facial muscles necessary to make the face my professor made in response. I just realized, when this situation happens, I don't decide to write a glowing recommendation to balance it out. Unless I really do like the professor and hate this kid, in which case this situation becomes considerably less enjoyable. I do have a heart, I swear.
3. Here's the legitimate comment-maker, who has decent ideas to improve the class but if ever implemented, the next class would hate this guy. I wonder how many of these guys have made the horrible choices that now make us have two credit classes every week for an hour rather than every other week for two, or how many of them decided that a midterm, a final, AND two papers would really be best. Karma will bite these assholes in the...ass (yeah, that didn't really work out).
4. And now, the worst situation. This is the kid who talks about his personal tale of woe and how the professor could change the entire university system to benefit, yes, him. Here's the thing. I don't care about his pathetic existence. I don't care that he's trying to go part-time because he hates his job and he can't finish his degree in two years but has to spend seven and because he doesn't have any money, he's forced to live off tuna fish and peanut butter. Maybe I don't care is too harsh. Maybe it should just be that I don't want to hear about it.
You know what, no. I don't care, that's the truth of the matter.
I'd write more, but I don't really feel like it anymore.
Here's what I mean.
First, you have the spring fashions. I already wrote something about this, but due to censorship, I had to take it down. But it's still worth mentioning and having its own place in Roomus World, so here it is again. Basically, too many girls are in denial about their size. Listen, it's okay, you gained the freshman/sophomore/junior/senior fifteen... every year, perhaps. Therefore, the clothes you bought a year ago, that were too small to begin with? DEFINITELY too small now. I'm sorry, but I don't want to see a stretch-marked gut hanging over a sweatband of a skirt. I know I'm not alone.
Second, you've got the class evaluations. And here's what usually happens. Because the professor can't read them until after the class is over and grades are returned, they ask us inclass to tell them what we think of it. This always brings up the following situations:
1. The kid who wants to better his grade. There's always someone in the class who thinks that telling the professor that he is brilliant will get him a better grade in the class. So for about five minutes, we have to hear about how this course changed this kid's outlook on his major and his life. If you have a good professor, the professor's not buying it and is just as uncomfortable as the rest of the class having to listen to this crap, but if you have a bad professor, you're in for a trip. Because here's what happens now:
1a. The professor starts asking this kid - who at this point would nominate the professor for a Nobel Prize - follow-up questions, like, "So you really DID like reading all of The Inferno in one night?" or "My lecture on the life of red African ants on the forty-first hill of the Sahara desert was really life-altering?" just to feel even better about himself. At this point, you pretty much decide that your evaluation will be scathing, just to balance this freak out.
2. The next situation is the most entertaining. In every class, there's a kid who argues with the professor. He's this mysterious kid who once in a while probably has a pretty decent point to make, but he makes his whole educational career out of sulking in the back and acting like he's superior to everyone else. Then, when this time comes, he basically bashes everything the professor did, said, and wore. It's alwasy fun to see how far the kid (and the professor) will take this debate. I once had a kid in a class who told a professor, "You were unprepared for class, your lectures made me fall asleep, and your expertise in this subject area is questionable at best." I don't think I even have the facial muscles necessary to make the face my professor made in response. I just realized, when this situation happens, I don't decide to write a glowing recommendation to balance it out. Unless I really do like the professor and hate this kid, in which case this situation becomes considerably less enjoyable. I do have a heart, I swear.
3. Here's the legitimate comment-maker, who has decent ideas to improve the class but if ever implemented, the next class would hate this guy. I wonder how many of these guys have made the horrible choices that now make us have two credit classes every week for an hour rather than every other week for two, or how many of them decided that a midterm, a final, AND two papers would really be best. Karma will bite these assholes in the...ass (yeah, that didn't really work out).
4. And now, the worst situation. This is the kid who talks about his personal tale of woe and how the professor could change the entire university system to benefit, yes, him. Here's the thing. I don't care about his pathetic existence. I don't care that he's trying to go part-time because he hates his job and he can't finish his degree in two years but has to spend seven and because he doesn't have any money, he's forced to live off tuna fish and peanut butter. Maybe I don't care is too harsh. Maybe it should just be that I don't want to hear about it.
You know what, no. I don't care, that's the truth of the matter.
I'd write more, but I don't really feel like it anymore.
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