College Diary Entry: Slacker

If you don't keep a journal, you really should. The oldest one I have dates back to when I was eight years old. I wrote about falling in mud puddles while wearing my new pink jeans.

Every six months or so, I like to bust out my collection and see how I have progressed over the years. Sometimes reading the old stuff makes me cry again, or it makes me laugh, or it makes me smile at how entirely ridiculous I really was.

I have a bit of journal to share with you today, dated 10/5/06, which was my junior year of college. My anger was uncontainable at the time, but now I just have to look back and shake my head at people's stupidity, mine included. I shouldn't have let it get to me.

Here it is:

The most shocking thing of my life happened today. A teacher of mine (Amy Smith) thinks I'm a slacker. She actually asked me to stay afterward so she could ask me what the hell I am doing in her class if I never take notes and don't participate. She actually wasted her time to have this conversation with me, like I'm the bad kid who sleeps in class or something. Me, a valedictorian of my high school class, Honors Program student, academic scholarship winner. Seriously. I hope she feels like shit tonight, because she definitely did not make my day easier. Let me just list everything that I've had to worry about in the past seven days. For real. 

I go on to list ten things that seemed big at the time in my RA (resident assistant) life, such as drug busts, counseling residents, and sexually assaulted victims. Which don't get me wrong, is still a big deal. But it wasn't like I needed to be any one's savior. I put too much stress on myself.

And Amy wants to tell me she's pissed I don't take more notes? What the f---. (I find it humorous that in my own private journal I still didn't have the gall to spell the f word out in it's entirety. Don't worry, I found plenty of audacity later and this word that I hate more than anything appears more than several times throughout the rest of the journal, and in the next one after it, and the next one after that). I'm going to tell you all the related background information: Amy is like 36. She used to work in inner city high schools where she took no crap and whipped people into shape. Her favorite phrase is "I don't have time to dick around." She pretty much prides herself on being a bad A(ss. Yes. I would not even write ass in my journal). She never lets us out early because our classes are jam packed. Which is fine. She likes to tell us stories about the slacker kids she reformed. 


Last Thursday, when I am not writing down everything she says, I am asked "Joelle, are you memorizing this?" I say, "Umm...no" and jot something down.


This Tuesday, me and two other students map out our imaginary future classroom. I explain it because no one else jumps on it to be the speaker. Amy asks me where the pencil sharpener is located. "Um...on top of the bookshelf." 

Amy says, "Well quit looking at me and draw it in." 


I take a blue pen and place a dot on the paper. As you can see, this is fairly ridiculous. I am asked if the pencil sharpener is electric or not. I say yes, reasoning that electric pencil sharpeners only take five seconds. Amy tells me I'm wrong, because someone could stand in front of the pencil sharpener for a long time bugging me or the rest of the students. She fails to listen to my theory that students should only write in pen in order to help the writing process (A theory that I still believe in, and if you want it explained in full, leave a comment). But she doesn't want to hear about how noisy hand cranked pencil sharpeners can be. 


Today, Thursday, at break Amy asks me if I have a few minutes after class. I am reluctant to say yes because I only have 20 minutes to walk back to my dorm room, go to the dining hall and eat lunch, change for PE, and leave for the gym building. 


I stay afterward, expecting her to ask how I'm doing with the RA thing or something, because she actually fooled me before into thinking that she cared. Instead, this is the conversation we have:
A: What do you plan on doing when you are done with the ed program?
J: Well, my focus area is health and I'm elementary/middle level.
A: So what are you doing in my class?
J: There is no content pedagogy class in health, so they told me to just pick one.
A: Why why aren't you in social studies or something?
J: Umm...because I like English.
A: Do you know why I'm asking you all these questions?
J: No.
A: You never take notes in my class, you don't participate (yadda yadda she mentions other stuff I don't remember because I am going into shock)...
J: I'm sorry if it has appeared that way.
A: Well, it has.
J:.........? I think I am more of a shy person who likes to think more and listen.
A: (glares)....Well, maybe you are more of an auditory learner, but I don't see you writing down anything and you're not going to remember this in 17 years. 
J:........
A: What if you're teaching 10th grade health and there are budget cuts and you have to teach 9th grade lit?
J: (I'm thinking this is just fine with me, but just stare, because I have not been planning on teaching only health. I go on to explain how I actually want to teach elementary in a self-contained classroom)
J: I guess I will try to speak up more. 
(Smile nicely and exit.)


What the f----. Here I am, leaning in, listening to every word. I'm two terms ahead for goodness sake, and I didn't get here from being a slacker. I was the valedictorian in high school! In the college Honors Program! And she has the nerve to tell me I never take notes and don't participate? Do you want to look in my effing notebook? What more can I do? I guess I will just have to pretend like lit class is the best thing of my life and I have nothing better to worry about than if I'm writing down Amy's every word. Seriously, WHAT THE F--- DO YOU WANT WITH ME?!

Nearly five years later, I can look back on this and just accept that sometimes profs have sticks up their butts and need to pick on somebody, like the tiniest, youngest person in class. I can go through it again. If you want to call me a shitty student, you can. Go ahead, unload on me. Yes, I am a loser. Yes, I never do anything right. I'll have you know that she tested me the very next week by asking me about something she talked about previously. I was able to answer her question in two seconds. I had written the complex idea down, and I knew exactly where it was in my notebook. I replied politely and I think she was a bit angry that I actually knew. Or maybe she was smug because she thought she had "fixed" my slacker attitude with her ranting, and now I was on the road to success, thanks to her. Whatever. It's all quite laughable now.

I kind of want to track her down and e-mail her to see if she remembers me. And does she look back on it and find it funny? Or have I been added to her success list of "reformed" students she likes to tells others about? Because the interaction I had with her really discredited my faith in her. I bet all those other "reformed" students were actually A plus transfer students whom she had never met.

I just checked. She's on LinkedIn. Wouldn't that be an interesting correspondence?
"Dear Amy, it turns out that I did become a total crap teacher after all...."

Want to know what's most ironic? That term she actually started out my favorite teacher. Well, for about three weeks, until she blew up in my face on October fifth. Then she wasn't.