I’m not a fan of being wrong; however, I have learned in recent years that there is honor in admitting to being wrong. Today’s world (at least here in the States United) requires us to be politically correct at all given moments, to not make mistakes, and other such pleasantries that are beyond reason. After a few such miscues and a much needed seclusion, I figured I’d come back to play by the rules. Yeah, you can’t teach an old dog new tricks. Or expect me to let a dirty joke slide without consequence. But hey, there’s a new episode of 16 & Pregnant…
Fair enough, the show doesn’t cure all ills, but let’s start with the good. Last Friday was the semiannual Social Dance Party, and I learned quickly that I would be in charge for one night only, since Skylar was sick. That was a shame, considering that he did a commendable job organizing the show. The same morning, I had a GTA meeting that preceded drinks and cheap happy hour food. I liked that, but then the show had to begin. My attire was completed at the last moment, and it was a hit. Blue over white, sequined shoes, and the United States Championship. For that night, I had complete social capital. Notably, I squandered it yet again because leading comes first, and pleasure is optional. Friday had sentimental worth to me, since I did not expect to be there. Not only was I there, but I directed traffic as foretold by the prophecy. A funny side story: the girl who served me the restraining order was there behind me as I lead the line dances. I was stunned, but meh, we were never on bad terms. However, it turns out a certain girl truly has isolated herself from her freshman year events. That saddens me, because I couldn’t throw a year’s worth of identity and shenanigans away if I tried. I still have my thoughts about the matter, and realized part of my recovery involved trading the Malibu for the Mustang. A professor taught me the power of my subconscious mind. She also taught me that stoners are unintentionally hilarious.
On the bad side of things, I’m uncertain if I want to continue the trek known as teaching. I’ve learned that my teaching ego is quite fragile, and being politically correct is not nearly the same as being right. I’m not a fan of students asking me if they could leave early, use their phones in class, or questioning my logic when all they needed to do was pay attention. There are other ways to get my attention, of course. One prominent way is rubbing a mistake in my face when the situation should be quashed. Sportsmanship lets victory and defeat alike lay in the annals of history; being a bitch involves, well, being a bitch. Someone was a bitch to me. Someone will get a nasty email in a couple of years when my affiliation is no longer a concern. Simply put, I made a critical error when grading, yet at the same time, I honed up to it. However, this student would not let the matter go, and sought to embarrass me again. However, I was not embarrassed, but irked. Whatever happened to being careful with whom you associate with, because you know who grades your papers. Death to political correctness; life to instructional privilege. An apology without heart is still an apology, on the surface. I wish someone would throw a fit by saying I’m insincere. Skibbedebebop. Much later.
Current Track – Sick Puppies “Maybe”