Yeah, it was me.
In what will not go down as my finest hour, I laid into a 70 year old chemistry teacher. To hear outsiders tell it, I was quite a bitch. I disagree.
I NEED to get a good grade in this class. While I have already been accepted into a nursing program, I wish to not give them cause to change their minds by turning in a crappy grade. I need a professor who is willing to put some time and effort into actually teaching the class.
So, here’s his background. Italian guy from South Philly – I should love him already, no? Terrified of science as a kid. Be still my beating heart. Father forced him to take Chemistry, and he LOVED it. Yeah, okay, there’s something wrong with this picture. He worked a long, illustrious career in the field of chemistry (who does that???), retired two years ago, and has been told by his wife to get his ass out of her house.
Remember that old saying, “Those that can’t do, teach.”? Yeah, well, this guy DOES, so it should be painfully obvious that teaching is not his thing.
Let’s start with his immediate dismissal of the thought of a syllabus. You know – the thing that becomes a college student’s Bible over the course of the semester? The thing that reminds us of what is expected of us and on what day has now been described as “too complicated” and “not necessary”.
In the first two hours, we lost five students. Yep – they just got up and left. Never came back. Unless something mysterious is going on in the ladies room, I would venture to guess they were dropping this class. Those aren’t very good statistics, even for someone who didn’t shine in her statistics class.
So this is how this particular professor chose to teach the class. “Class, turn to page one.” And he read the book to us. Word for word, never leaving his chair. I kid you not. He even read figures that were so enormous, I wasn’t even sure how many zeros I needed! And he gave no examples on the board. And he didn’t explain anything.
And he’s a little hard of hearing. Which is why I may have sounded louder than I should have sounded.
When I confronted him.
Yeah, I did. I thought I was being polite when I asked him if he intended to teach the entire class that way – no notes, no examples, no nothing. I may have called one young kid in the front Doogie. He deserved it.
I merely explained to this professor that I am certainly capable of reading the book on my own, but I was hoping for a class where what I read was explained in depth. By someone who spoke “chemistry”. I myself am not fluent in the language.
And if it wasn’t embarrassing enough that a few of the kids – yes, I said kids – attacked me for being so rude to this kindly elderly gentleman, a bimbo behind me, wearing a cut off sweatshirt that said PINK in huge letters across her boobs and low rise sweatpants that said SWEET across her arse yelled out, “I think you’re doing a fantastic job!” Honey, you do know he’s blind as a bat and can’t even see your boobs, right? Look how close he has his nose to the book to be able to read it to us. No way those boobs are getting you an A in that class.
So immediately after class, with my tail between my legs, I took my shrew self to registration and dropped the Italian Stallion’s old grey mare’s class and registered for a Saturday class.
I hate Saturday classes 🙁
