When I finally got to class, I opened the door and tried not to hydroplane to my seat. I tiptoed in an attempt to keep the slurping suction of my wet shoes on linoleum from broadcasting my dripping entrance. The only thing tiptoeing accomplished was to make me feel like a hippo in a tutu doing ballet in a lake. As I stood by my seat, trying to figure out what to do with the sodden mess that I’d become, I realized that the whole class was staring at me. I had peeled off my jacket and dropped my backpack before I realized that I was the day’s winner in the wet t-shirt contest, complete with erect nipples. The heat from my embarrassment should have sizzled me dry, or at least allowed me to vanish in a cloud of steam, but no. I was just as wet as ever when I slid into my chair, the puddle under my butt quickly warming from my body heat and making me feel like I’d peed my pants. No doubts about it, today was a no elastic in your underwear kind of day.
Professor Felon, or Fallon, or whatever his name was, proceeded with his class instruction, ignoring me as I pulled out a soggy notebook. I saw that the damp pages were slowly turning purple as the ink from previous pages tie-dyed my notes and my homework assignment. I quickly tore out the homework and discreetly started waving the white and slightly purple page in the air, blowing on it so that it would dry before my work became illegible. The class was staring again so I jokingly said, “I surrender”. The class cracked up. The professor did not.
English had always been my strongest subject and I had tested out of English 101 and 102, which were required college classes for my major. I still needed to take two English courses, however, so I chose “Shakespeare: The King of Literature” purely for conveniences sake, since it fit into my class schedule so well. As a commuting and working student, I didn’t want hours to kill between classes.
I suppose there are now class reviews that tell students about how good, or bad, a class is, and which professors to avoid at all costs. Being just a few steps beyond normal, I used the einy, meeny, miney, moe technique as often as not. That is how I ended up with Professor F. I didn’t know that this was his nickname until after it was too late to drop the class. He had earned the nickname because he flunked so many students. He also gave grade reductions for absences which is how I came to be in his class in my current state. For any other class, I would have surrendered for real, and taken my entire wet mess home.
Stay tuned for another episode of “It’s a miracle she ever graduated”!
One thought on “Professor F”
You were certainly dedicated. I am not sure I would have made it to class that day. It sounds like Professor F was the real failure here.
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