Monday of the Second Week
Funny thing about college teaching . . . the first week is just that . . . and for the most part a wash of syllabi disbursement, the "this is what you will and will not do" lectures, and then the second class is disrupted by students with little sense of social decorum. These are usually the ones who do not show up the first day of class. Eh, don't get me wrong, I do what I love and love what I do . . . but, every now and then social disorder annoys me.
Along with the first week madness, there is the beginning of sign-ins. Some students begin this task the first week. Some start it the second week. Most do it the second week, as the add-drop period ends. Moments of advising the first week are never anything like the second, particularly if these students are in upper level seminars and grades have started coming in from the first week's assignments. While advising times are established throughout the semester, any professor worth his or her weight will tell you that advising occurs all semester long. The second week, right before add-drop ends, is prime grounds for professor's reaching insanity levels in need of psychotropic drugs from all the students waiting outside classrooms, offices, emailing them, and sitting with them at lunch . . . Again, I do what I love but sometimes you realize you've been on campus since 8:15 am and have been teaching or conversing with students non-stop for six hours. You do the math . . . what time is it? Yea. Grab a bagel, eat it while walking across the quad, and teach your last seminar of the day. Class disburses at 4:50pm and at 5:30 you finally head to your car. Sit down and realize you haven't sat for more than two minutes all day. Attempt to stifle a yawn, realize it's coming in full force. Catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and see raccoons starring back from your eye sockets. Breathe deep, crawl back out of car to cafe to purchase coffee. Slide back into car, yawn loudly, gulp coffee, drive back to the 'hood. It's now 6:00pm. You finally walk in your door at 7:00pm.
Mind you, you aren't paid for advising . . . but when students ask, you see them more often than not, and they take the lot of your classes . . .
While boiling pasta check your phone. Student emails abound. Some good. Some . . . "Hello professor I would like to speak to you in person when would you be available?" It's a student from last term who "mistakenly" sent her paper to an incorrect email, so you had to grade it late and submit a grade change form. Let's not even go there about the lack of grammar. She's already voiced her unhappiness that she earned a C and not a B. [Seriously, if you had eschewed your ethics and "given" her the B she would have cried for an A] You are betting money that she wants to cry for a better grade; you have already given her credit for effort . . . or the grade would have been a C- or lower.
But, the second week--for me--wouldn't be complete without a bizarre moment of befuddled confusion occurring. This is my life after-all. On Monday, before the assault of grade grubbing and whining took itself on in full force, a strange dialogue occurred between me and another long-time adjunct. Among pleasantries, and her telling me her husband is a high school teacher, she asked about the job market and what I am doing in those regards. I mentioned that I have a book, mounds of publications, and blah blah blah. Then she asked if I'm single.
Take a second, adjust mouth, breathe.
I should've lied. You know, like I tell those weirdos in the park who ask "You got somebody?" or back in Small Town USA the question at Wal-Mart was "You want a boyfriend?" Another day I'll go into the diatribes about gangster attire and outright sexism . . . today . . . today is all about being single.
Said colleague then told me that I still have my cards to play. Essentially, she told me that I need to play my single card and find someone to marry me. Somewhere in there she gurgled about during recessions divorces increase, and I should weigh my options because men will be divided between the first family and you. Yet, according to her, I really need to get married. Oiy. Half an hour later a favorite student--for real--walked in. Thank goodness because I might have lost my mind. Still . . . my mouth is still hanging open that a woman fourteen years older than me--as she put it--felt the need to tell me (in so many words) that marriage was better for me. Really?
My mouth is still a little agape.
While I still shake my head at these points, I have student emails to attend to--right now mostly fun ones--and a lecture to finish. It's only Wednesday and we got an ice storm last night. What's next? Buckets of snow? Oh wait, we've had that too.
Along with the first week madness, there is the beginning of sign-ins. Some students begin this task the first week. Some start it the second week. Most do it the second week, as the add-drop period ends. Moments of advising the first week are never anything like the second, particularly if these students are in upper level seminars and grades have started coming in from the first week's assignments. While advising times are established throughout the semester, any professor worth his or her weight will tell you that advising occurs all semester long. The second week, right before add-drop ends, is prime grounds for professor's reaching insanity levels in need of psychotropic drugs from all the students waiting outside classrooms, offices, emailing them, and sitting with them at lunch . . . Again, I do what I love but sometimes you realize you've been on campus since 8:15 am and have been teaching or conversing with students non-stop for six hours. You do the math . . . what time is it? Yea. Grab a bagel, eat it while walking across the quad, and teach your last seminar of the day. Class disburses at 4:50pm and at 5:30 you finally head to your car. Sit down and realize you haven't sat for more than two minutes all day. Attempt to stifle a yawn, realize it's coming in full force. Catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror and see raccoons starring back from your eye sockets. Breathe deep, crawl back out of car to cafe to purchase coffee. Slide back into car, yawn loudly, gulp coffee, drive back to the 'hood. It's now 6:00pm. You finally walk in your door at 7:00pm.
Mind you, you aren't paid for advising . . . but when students ask, you see them more often than not, and they take the lot of your classes . . .
While boiling pasta check your phone. Student emails abound. Some good. Some . . . "Hello professor I would like to speak to you in person when would you be available?" It's a student from last term who "mistakenly" sent her paper to an incorrect email, so you had to grade it late and submit a grade change form. Let's not even go there about the lack of grammar. She's already voiced her unhappiness that she earned a C and not a B. [Seriously, if you had eschewed your ethics and "given" her the B she would have cried for an A] You are betting money that she wants to cry for a better grade; you have already given her credit for effort . . . or the grade would have been a C- or lower.
But, the second week--for me--wouldn't be complete without a bizarre moment of befuddled confusion occurring. This is my life after-all. On Monday, before the assault of grade grubbing and whining took itself on in full force, a strange dialogue occurred between me and another long-time adjunct. Among pleasantries, and her telling me her husband is a high school teacher, she asked about the job market and what I am doing in those regards. I mentioned that I have a book, mounds of publications, and blah blah blah. Then she asked if I'm single.
Take a second, adjust mouth, breathe.
I should've lied. You know, like I tell those weirdos in the park who ask "You got somebody?" or back in Small Town USA the question at Wal-Mart was "You want a boyfriend?" Another day I'll go into the diatribes about gangster attire and outright sexism . . . today . . . today is all about being single.
Said colleague then told me that I still have my cards to play. Essentially, she told me that I need to play my single card and find someone to marry me. Somewhere in there she gurgled about during recessions divorces increase, and I should weigh my options because men will be divided between the first family and you. Yet, according to her, I really need to get married. Oiy. Half an hour later a favorite student--for real--walked in. Thank goodness because I might have lost my mind. Still . . . my mouth is still hanging open that a woman fourteen years older than me--as she put it--felt the need to tell me (in so many words) that marriage was better for me. Really?
My mouth is still a little agape.
While I still shake my head at these points, I have student emails to attend to--right now mostly fun ones--and a lecture to finish. It's only Wednesday and we got an ice storm last night. What's next? Buckets of snow? Oh wait, we've had that too.
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