I see you smirking at me in the back row. You think I don't know that it was you who complained about my "demoralizing" manner to the undergraduate Dean of Students. What tipped me off was when you marched your lackluster ass into my office brandishing the B+ on your first essay, brashly declaring, "Um. I'm not a B+ student."
Sadly, as our dean is about to succumb to his/her next nervous breakdown, he/she delegated my disgraceful behavior (of trying to show you that stating the painfully obvious isn't really a stellar thesis) to my direct supervisor who happens to chair my dissertation committee. As the touchy-feely, wishy-washy dishrag that he/she is, he/she recommended that I elevate my already generous grading system about 3/4s a letter grade (can anyone whisper GRADE INFLATION?).
He/she further advised me that you, my students, are "babies" and ought to be "coddled" regularly. As I must keep said dishrag deliriously happy until I receive my doctorate, you have me by the short and curlies. However, please know that the tutorials/conferences I offer at the Starbuck's near my house every Saturday before papers are due are coming to a screeching halt. Also know that I will no longer read stories or poems that I am unfamiliar with so that you can have freedom in your choice of essay topics. Extended office hours will be reduced to one hour per week, and I will for damn sure quit preparing class notes before working on my dissertation.
You may get the A you feel so entitled to because the system sucks, but please know that karma is a bigger bitch than you are. My regards to your parents who never taught you to work for anything, who kept you the baby that you are, and who coddled you right out of becoming a worthwhile adult. I used to care about your difficult journey from adolescence into adulthood, but I couldn't give a rusty fuck now.