Bourbon anyone?

All across the land, colleges started classes recently.  I, being a henchman in the adjunct world, started my courses at two campuses.  Yawn.  Stretch.  Unload backpack and shuttle to next school . . . In the midst of shuttling and teaching and sucking in air amusing moments always occur.  Don't get me wrong, I do what I love and love what I do . . . but sometimes you just gotta be like: What? What's going in that head of yours? Seriously? Seriously.

Yesterday I sent a few of my teaching peeps an email with blurbs of the following.  Go on, read.  There's more in here than the email yesterday.  If you don't laugh at some point something is wrong with you.

So here's to the first two weeks, or one week depending on how you look at it.

Week One: Women's Studies.

I passionately discuss the need and history of the discipline.  I tell my students that looking at articles and scholarly reviews are inherent in what we do, but that we also must look at bonafide primary source documents.  These riches provide us with first-hand accounts and quantifiable data.  Someone asks why we aren't just using Wikipedia.

Week Two:

None of the students knew what the "Take Back the Night" marches in the text were.  I had to explain.  Several voiced that they think rapes on college campuses don't happen anymore.  I refrained from going apeshit, considering my own history.  I calmly explained.

It gets better.  I gave the link to the Seneca Falls Statement, explaining it's purpose as a primary document in our upcoming discussion.  Email from concerned student says she's found the statement but doesn't know where the primary document is.     

Week One: American Military History

Three students think the Whiskey Rebellion is the American Revolution.

Week 2:

Two females began comparing Puritan New England to the modern day Middle East.

The girl who had her bra sticking out last week is clearly no accident. She sits in front of me and pulls the shirt down, adjusting it throughout class, to show me 90 percent of her lacey bra. She sits dead in front of me.

Several students accost me after class to tell me that they are annoyed by two students who attempt to dominate discussion, ask bizarre questions, and derail.  I tell them I have a few tricks in my back pocket, and that in a week or so our groove should happen.  Let's hope my bag of professor tricks works.

Week 1 of American Biography I:

We discuss the readings and the need for primary documents. They are in the reader.

Week 2:

I fall off of a chair. I know, you are laughing.  Yup, still bombastic after all of these years.

Two students do not understand why they have to read when I "should just tell them what they have to know."  Several students do not understand how writings by John Smith (the "savior" of Jamestown) are primary documents because they are in a book, ya know.

The second place I teach at.

Week 1 of Tourism Studies :

They can either do a research paper or a service learning project. The service learning is working with an organization, and it is the better option to the thirty-page research paper. One student wants to know if he can just take a trip and write about it, since it is tourism and all.  Another student just emailed: he wants to know if going to ball games will count. Did I tell you this an upper level class?

Week 1 of Environmentalism:

A student argued that he shouldn't have to do readings not online; you know, like buy books, because that would cost money.  I predicted that someone would say the class is about studying garbage.  Someone did.

Bourbon anyone? 


Like I said, I do what I love and love what I do.  I am thrilled to be back in the motherland, amidst my good and bad memories, and in a land where douchebag, asshole, and fuck are used in everyday language.  I love the fact that I'm back on college campuses, not teaching college classes inside prisons.  Not every student produces the jaw dropping remarks from above, but some . . . yea.  It takes all kinds.  Though, I should note that I prefer students to email these bizarre, poorly thought, perhaps dumb (?) questions.  Why? So that when my mouth falls open and the inevitable string of expletives erupts I don't have to hide it, suck in all the air in the room, and contort my face into an expression "of deep thought" when I am really biting the hell out of my cheeks to fend off laughter. 


Consensus on the bra girl is she is hitting on me.  Um, I do not play for the home team.  Sorry Dudette.  For the record, it is slippery for me to say anything.  We've got a plan of action for me next week, as my chair asked the Dean what I can legally do.   

Since this is my crazy life, I should tell you that as the craziness progressed I began to have nightmares that the 21 year old who hit on me two weeks ago would show up in my classes.  He did not.  Thank God.  



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