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Classrooms in the Mist

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Copyright, (c) 1991, 1995 by Noel Rappin. All Rights Reserved. For more info, see end of article.


There seems to be a sameness to my life as a Brandeis student. Nothing new ever seems to happen. When was the last time something genuinely new broke your routine? Did the class session portrayed here take place last week, last month or last year? Was it history? computer science? English? Does it matter? Beats me, all my days seem to blur together. And they all look something like this. First the same old shower, then the same search for clean clothes, than the same mad dash across campus to class. Then comes the class:

9:00 -- The first students arrive, only to discover that the door is locked. One or two people take this to mean that class is canceled. They leave, never to be heard from again.

9:05 -- I arrive, and ask a fellow student why everybody is standing outside the classroom. He shrugs, saying "I dunno, but everybody else is out here. Must be some reason." Feeling stupid, I try the door. It seems to be locked.

9:10 -- The professor arrives, and asks why everybody is still standing in the hall. Everybody shrugs. He asks why nobody went down the hall to the department office for the key. Nobody gives him the real reason, which is that they didn't much care whether the class met or not. He departs, searching for the key.

9:15 -- He returns and unlocks the door. I choose a seat. This is more difficult than it sounds. I want a seat that is not so close to the professor that he can see what I am doing. Yet, I don't what to be too far away, because I want him to know who I am. I also try and get near that cute girl, so that I can impress her with my wit.

9:18 -- The professor writes the assigned readings on the board. He misspells one of the titles. Feeling superior, I point this out to the cute girl, who is unimpressed.

9:20 -- Lecture begins. The professor starts by asking a basic question about the reading. Every student in the class falls into one of three categories:

Despite the fact that this mass silence happens every week, the professor seems unprepared for it.

9:25 -- The professor throws the issue to class discussion, expecting a lively debate about the issue under consideration.

9:27 -- After two minutes of complete silence, the professor begins to make more and more controversial statements in the hopes of eliciting some response, any response, from anybody.

9:29 -- I whisper a joke about the professor's speech impediment to the cute girl. She pretends not to hear me.

9:30 -- The professor claims that Shakespeare's plays were actually written by Dan Quayle, using the name Sir Francis Bacon to avoid being drafted in Vietnam. A hand goes up. The professor calls on the student, who is merely calling the misspelling on the board to the professor's attention.

9:32 -- I repeat my joke, only louder. The cute girl still ignores it, but this time the professor throws a dirty look in my direction.

9:34 -- I look through my book bag, hoping against hope that something interesting is in there.

9:35 -- The professor claims that Dickens was the illegitimate son of Queen Victoria and Jack the Ripper. Five heads nod in agreement as they write this fact into their notes. I look at my watch. Half the class gone!

9:36 -- I pull my hand out of my bag, holding the tattered remains of what were once my notes for this class.

9:37 -- To relieve boredom, I spend one minute taking my pulse. (What, am I the only person on the planet who does this?)

9:38 -- 84. I am still alive, but probably need exercise. The cute girl looks at me strangely.

9:40 -- The professor claims that commas are "an instrument of the devil" and that the semi-colon is "God's favored punctuation." Three hands go up complaining that this example offends the international brotherhood of hyphens, and they are reporting the professor to the proper authorities.

9:42 -- The cute girl next to me makes a comment. The professor disagrees with her, and I disagree with both of them. I wonder who it is more important for me to impress. Briefly, I wrestle with a true ethical dilemma. No contest. Libido defeats grade-grubbing two falls out of three. I raise my hand and defend the girl.

9:44 -- The professor calls my view, "The most ignorant reading of Dante that I have ever heard. This worries me, because I was discussing Hamlet.

9:45 -- A girl walks into class bleary-eyed with her hair all over the place. She is wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt and slippers. No explanation is given.

9:47:30 -- I look at my watch. Class is three quarters done!

9:48 -- The professor talks about Shakespeare's use of foolish characters, citing me as a modern example, and making fun of my speech impediment. The cute girl finds this unusually humorous.

9:50 -- A class member attempts to draw a thematic link between Shakespeare, the Star Wars trilogy, The Simpsons, and the works of Danielle Steele. The professor calls this, "An excellent point, and often overlooked."

9:52 -- I begin to doodle intricate geometric designs in my notebook. Soon I have tuned the professor out entirely.

9:55 -- The phrase "mid-term exam next class" snaps me back into the real world. I look up from my reproduction of them Mona Lisa in ballpoint pen only to see the professor erasing a list of test questions off the blackboard.

9:58 -- The class discussion is summed up by the professor in a vague, rambling monologue that could be used to support any position in any field.

10:00 -- The professor claims he has just one more point to discuss. However, he is drowned out by the sound of forty-five backpacks zipping shut in unison. He barely escapes death by stampede as the class exits.

10:02 -- I catch up to the cute girl, and ask if I can come by some night to look at her notes. She laughs hysterically and walks away without answering. I wonder if that means no.

10:05 -- While I walk to my next class, all the way across campus, it begins to rain. Of course I don't own an umbrella.

10:10:01 -- I enter my next class, sopping wet and one second late. The professor screams at me for not taking his class seriously enough. I resign myself to a long day.


This article is (c) Copyright 1991, by noel@cc.gatech.edu. It originally appeared in Gravity: The Humor Magazine of Brandeis University , volume 2 issue 1 (Dec 1991). You are free to enjoy this and distribute it in a limited not-for-profit fashion. This notice, and the title notice must be included with all re-distributions. Thanks.




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