Wednesday, January 30, 2008

More, More, More Students Who Have Conspired to Ruin The Usually Quiet and Luxurious First Days of Spring.

  • At the end of the first lab meeting, a tough guy with tattoos on his arms who is just coming back to college after a three year absence, comes up to me and says, "are all the labs going to be this lame, 'cause I didn't learn a thing."

  • Last week we had a "snow day," all classes cancelled for the day. An automated program sends emails to every student. Harry Hyper, though, doesn't find that - or the crawl on the TV or the announcement on every radio station - enough, so calls and leaves me 3 increasingly hysterical messages on my voicemail. 1) "Uh, Dr. Snoopy? This is Harry Hyper. I was wondering if the class has been moved." 2) "Uh, Dr. Snoopy? This is Harry again. I'm still at the classroom and nobody has arrived. I've already walked across the library and nobody is there either. I'm beginning to worry." 3) "This is Harry again. I don't even see any classes meeting. Is this another holiday? Is it President's Day? There's no mention of that on the syllabus and I don't have any idea what I'm supposed to do now. Do we still have to read chapter 3? When are we going to have class again?" The next day there were four more hangups on my voicemail. I get to see Harry this morning, and I'm eager to discuss with him what a snow day means.

  • I hate the text messaging students. I have a rule. NO TEXT MESSAGES to me. Don't send them; I won't read them. NO NO NO. However, I have received three in the first two weeks of class--all from the SAME student. I ignored the first two, but on the third...I texted back: TTTFH. Student sends back: "?" I text back: TTTFH! Talk to the hand. (Time passes and you can imagine that Jeopardy music plays in the background) Finally, bingo, a new text message alert on my phone. Student texts: Ok. :)

  • "Romeo" was in a class last semester, missing a huge number of class meetings and then coming in with a long and (as I have learned) fictional tale of romantic woe. I offered nothing more than the chance to do the remaining work, which allowed him to squeak by. But he evidently mistook me for Randy Newman. That is, he seems to think he has a friend in me. So he's back this semester, missing lots of classes and barely hiding his contempt for the work of the class, while reassuring me of his grit and effort. If he tells me one more time that I'm going to find him "at the top of his game" this semester, I shall throw a bottle of Gatorade at his head.