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4.0's and Slow Folks
May 11 2006
There was this girl in my biology classes this past semester. Nice girl... we'll call her Susie. As I said, Susie was a nice girl; I'd like to say more good things about her, perhaps that she is intelligent and will be an asset to society in her chosen profession, but unfortunately, I cannot.
Imagine my surprise when I open the spring graduation program this morning in the Honors Office and am scanning it for people I know, when I see Susie's name and the double cross demarcation next to it, signifying that Susie has graduated after four years of undergraduate instruction with a 4.0 QPA. Let's just say I was flabbergasted.
As I said, I had a couple of classes with this child. She no more deserves a 4.0 than I deserve the All-Athletics Award. The professor for one of these classes was Dr. Goss (pronounced just like the recently retired CIA leader). She would INCESSANTLY call out "Professor Go-oss!" whenever she needed anything. This could be anything from a pertinent concern ("I think I just rubbed anthrax bacteria into this open wound on my hand, despite your specific instructions not to!") to the type of question that would make young children cringe ("What question do we begin with on the exam?").
Not only are her questions asinine (yes, Virginia, there are stupid questions), but the way she addresses the professor makes me grit my teeth. As I said, she calls out, "Professor Go-oss!". She double pitches the professor's last name and turn it into two syllables. And the professor part is just irritating. Were she from another part of the country, where the norm is to address all lecturers as "professor," I would overlook it, but she's from this region! I want to shake her very hard and say, "Susie, sweetie, it's Dr. Goss. Not Professor, Dr. And her last name has four letters--one vowel, one syllable, one pitch." Twitch.
She also cannot get it through her head that I am not in her Molecular Genetics class. She asked me three times what I thought of the MG homework. I told her I was not in the class. At one point, she asked, "Are you sure?" Yes, dear, I think by the time April rolls around, I know which classes I am enrolled in. Thank you." Seriously, she has the IQ of a young head of cabbage.
The other minor irritation of the day was driving down 10th St. Now, if you've ever ridden with me (or driven behind me), you know that I am not the fastest of drivers. I usually go the speed limit or a couple of miles below; there are several (read: 15-20) feet between me and the car in front of me. I believe in cautious driving. However, this does not mean you should go 12 mph on 10th St. (speed limit=35-45) when there is no traffic on the road.
Of course, there are exceptions. Perhaps you are cradling vases of expensive Oriental lilies in your lap, or a rabid squirrel is sitting on the seat next to you, sending telepathic messages that it will bite you only if you go above 15 mph. Maybe you're having a psychotic episode and feel as though you are the bus driver in Speed. These are all perfectly normal, everyday reasons to drive 30 miles below the speed limit, and I can understand them.
However, if I am driving behind you, and I can see you and your wife (and your combined ages number higher than the rooms in the White House) pointing out each window at everyone on the street and talking, chances are you are not in crisis mode. You are in nosy mode. And when you simply stop in the street to stare at something, you need to not be driving. And this is coming from the Yenta King.
Imagine my surprise when I open the spring graduation program this morning in the Honors Office and am scanning it for people I know, when I see Susie's name and the double cross demarcation next to it, signifying that Susie has graduated after four years of undergraduate instruction with a 4.0 QPA. Let's just say I was flabbergasted.
As I said, I had a couple of classes with this child. She no more deserves a 4.0 than I deserve the All-Athletics Award. The professor for one of these classes was Dr. Goss (pronounced just like the recently retired CIA leader). She would INCESSANTLY call out "Professor Go-oss!" whenever she needed anything. This could be anything from a pertinent concern ("I think I just rubbed anthrax bacteria into this open wound on my hand, despite your specific instructions not to!") to the type of question that would make young children cringe ("What question do we begin with on the exam?").
Not only are her questions asinine (yes, Virginia, there are stupid questions), but the way she addresses the professor makes me grit my teeth. As I said, she calls out, "Professor Go-oss!". She double pitches the professor's last name and turn it into two syllables. And the professor part is just irritating. Were she from another part of the country, where the norm is to address all lecturers as "professor," I would overlook it, but she's from this region! I want to shake her very hard and say, "Susie, sweetie, it's Dr. Goss. Not Professor, Dr. And her last name has four letters--one vowel, one syllable, one pitch." Twitch.
She also cannot get it through her head that I am not in her Molecular Genetics class. She asked me three times what I thought of the MG homework. I told her I was not in the class. At one point, she asked, "Are you sure?" Yes, dear, I think by the time April rolls around, I know which classes I am enrolled in. Thank you." Seriously, she has the IQ of a young head of cabbage.
The other minor irritation of the day was driving down 10th St. Now, if you've ever ridden with me (or driven behind me), you know that I am not the fastest of drivers. I usually go the speed limit or a couple of miles below; there are several (read: 15-20) feet between me and the car in front of me. I believe in cautious driving. However, this does not mean you should go 12 mph on 10th St. (speed limit=35-45) when there is no traffic on the road.
Of course, there are exceptions. Perhaps you are cradling vases of expensive Oriental lilies in your lap, or a rabid squirrel is sitting on the seat next to you, sending telepathic messages that it will bite you only if you go above 15 mph. Maybe you're having a psychotic episode and feel as though you are the bus driver in Speed. These are all perfectly normal, everyday reasons to drive 30 miles below the speed limit, and I can understand them.
However, if I am driving behind you, and I can see you and your wife (and your combined ages number higher than the rooms in the White House) pointing out each window at everyone on the street and talking, chances are you are not in crisis mode. You are in nosy mode. And when you simply stop in the street to stare at something, you need to not be driving. And this is coming from the Yenta King.
