Mondays and My Name
In 1981 I was a kindergartner, in all my glory. Back then, my family and I lived in Tacoma, Washington and I went to a school with oodles of other military and working class kids. None-the-less, there was one day I particularly remember a glimpse of in the forefront of my mind. I was in the front office, rather ill, and the secretary needed my name to look up my contact info. I gave her my name, and she promptly told me that I could not be correct. She added a V to the first name, while subtracting a N, and added a K to the last. My name is NOT Vanessa Babick. My name is Annessa Babic, and it always has been. Needless to say, she yelled at me. She also refused to believe the phone numbers I gave her. Mind you, my parents had gotten me an ID bracelet with my address and phone number on it (we lived on A Street, thank-you very much). My father had made me memorize his work number by the time I was three or so. Clearly, I knew my name and how to get a hold of my units. Because Secretary Stupid refused to believe my name, she couldn't find the information in the files. She rudely took a number from me after attempts to find my info, while I upchucked into a pail, and she called my Dad.
Perhaps I should tell you that A) Dad was still in the Army back then and B) Dad wasn't as nice and mellow as he is now. Get my drift? Yea. Dad got there, and when the secretary told him about my name et al. I still remember his bellows. He did not take kindly to someone saying his daughter didn't know her vitals. Short end to that story, Dad took me to the doctor, and the rest of that memory is a fuzz of childhood spoonfuls of nasty-flavored goo, dolls with bows in their hair, and others moments of childhood delights down the years.
That was twenty-nine years ago. Why is it permeating my mind tonight? Today, at the end of my 8:30am lecture, two students asked why I had not gotten their papers. Their emails were returned. Now, let's pause for a moment. On the syllabus my Gmail address stands at the top. By the second week of class, OW gave me an email address and Angel account. Angel accounts are online blackboards for your classes where you can email, document drop, and so forth. The students have their syllabus posted on Angel, they can email me via Angel. I have emailed all of them via Angel. They can also use the basic OW search service to find me. Anyone see where this is going?
These students scribbled down in their notes an incorrect spelling of my first name, which would prevent a Gmail delivery. They both exclaimed "that's what you wrote!" Um, hello? Then one had the balls to tell me that she lost her syllabus, for which I chipped "it's on Angel, that's no excuse." These two continued to tell me that I wrote my name wrong. Seriously, hello?! My response, "I think I can spell me own name, trust me." A third student, who has emailed me (as in right before the midterm he wanted me to give him the answers for half the study guide), tried to say I didn't write my name correctly. I glared at him, and he quickly shut up. The other two, as I told them there are multiple ways of emailing me. I also reminded both girls that they had emailed me via Angel earlier in the term. Needless to say, they forwarded me the rejected email to the correct account later today.
What all of this leads to is . . . takes some balls to tell a professor that she doesn't know how to spell her own name. Balls, I tell ya. Balls.
On that same note, I love what I do and do what I love. But, Mondays after a holiday weekend just suck any way you dice them. Upside, in my war class Hitler took possession of the leadership in Germany, Nevell Chamberlain has sealed the "Peace in Our Time" agreement, and Poland has been invaded. The Americans are gearing up, and we are on our way to entering the European combat zones. What? I've gotta have something . . .
Perhaps I should tell you that A) Dad was still in the Army back then and B) Dad wasn't as nice and mellow as he is now. Get my drift? Yea. Dad got there, and when the secretary told him about my name et al. I still remember his bellows. He did not take kindly to someone saying his daughter didn't know her vitals. Short end to that story, Dad took me to the doctor, and the rest of that memory is a fuzz of childhood spoonfuls of nasty-flavored goo, dolls with bows in their hair, and others moments of childhood delights down the years.
That was twenty-nine years ago. Why is it permeating my mind tonight? Today, at the end of my 8:30am lecture, two students asked why I had not gotten their papers. Their emails were returned. Now, let's pause for a moment. On the syllabus my Gmail address stands at the top. By the second week of class, OW gave me an email address and Angel account. Angel accounts are online blackboards for your classes where you can email, document drop, and so forth. The students have their syllabus posted on Angel, they can email me via Angel. I have emailed all of them via Angel. They can also use the basic OW search service to find me. Anyone see where this is going?
These students scribbled down in their notes an incorrect spelling of my first name, which would prevent a Gmail delivery. They both exclaimed "that's what you wrote!" Um, hello? Then one had the balls to tell me that she lost her syllabus, for which I chipped "it's on Angel, that's no excuse." These two continued to tell me that I wrote my name wrong. Seriously, hello?! My response, "I think I can spell me own name, trust me." A third student, who has emailed me (as in right before the midterm he wanted me to give him the answers for half the study guide), tried to say I didn't write my name correctly. I glared at him, and he quickly shut up. The other two, as I told them there are multiple ways of emailing me. I also reminded both girls that they had emailed me via Angel earlier in the term. Needless to say, they forwarded me the rejected email to the correct account later today.
What all of this leads to is . . . takes some balls to tell a professor that she doesn't know how to spell her own name. Balls, I tell ya. Balls.
On that same note, I love what I do and do what I love. But, Mondays after a holiday weekend just suck any way you dice them. Upside, in my war class Hitler took possession of the leadership in Germany, Nevell Chamberlain has sealed the "Peace in Our Time" agreement, and Poland has been invaded. The Americans are gearing up, and we are on our way to entering the European combat zones. What? I've gotta have something . . .
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