Tuesday, March 31, 2009

Our Series on Proffie Fear Continues, And In This One, Paula from Passaic Worries For Her Fella.

My deepest fear as a proffie has nothing to do with me. I'm also married to a proffie and my biggest fears are with him.

The self-inflated, "never say I'm less than amazing," narcissism of the contemporary undergrad extends from their papers to their poon. I've seen a crop of little girls in my husband's office flashing him their panties, begging for a grade, sweating their plagiarism charges.

He tells me about awkward situations in classes and office hours and I find myself longing to put my hands around their little necks and choke their very lives out of them. Or at least make them brown out a little. They have no respect for any institution, any authority, any boundaries or lines that don't suit their momentary lust for something. And, my would I love to remind them that might, when applied to things that cannot think above their gonads, does make right.

I love my husband, I trust my husband, but I hold my breath during his office hours, terrified to knock or push open the door the full way, fearing that I'll find some grade-grubbing 18 year old whose IQ qualifies her only to be the bouncer at a strip joint, doing... something. I can't even gauge the full range of what these students will do for a grade. But I can assess how it makes me feel and violence is definitely on the table. So, I fear the oversexed or oversexualized undergraduate girl willing to do anything to anyone for a "better" grade. But I fear more my reaction to her.