July 2, 2001

  • Slacking


    Well, I'm back on the Fed job--the "day" job--and someone tried to stick me with some work the moment I walked in, but I turned it around, reasoned with the individual, and made him feel that it was his responsibility to deal with the problem himself.  I can be such a slacker.


    I had a student once who adamantly maintained in emails with me "I'm not a slacker!"  But she was the cutest purrfect little slacker imaginable.  I could have learned so much from her--but I couldn't let myself ooze unprofessionally into those murky waters.


    But I had yet another student who tried to drag me head first into those waters.  It was final test time and there was a set time limit for the test because...I promised to buy pitchers of beer for the whole class at the local bar afterwards. So everyone turned in their tests, but one girl was lagging, slacking.  Venus was her name and Venus was in trouble.  Time expired and I called for the test.  One more minute, she appealled, one more.  A minute passed and I called time again. Whimpering, she began to plead: "Professor, please, is there anything I can do to pass this course?"  I replied that that would be determined by the results of the yet ungraded final test.  But she blurted: "No, see, I flunked the test, look, look..."   And although I didn't want to look since I wanted to grade the tests "blindly" (unaware of the student's identity), she flashed so many brilliant white blank pages in front of my eyes that it was apparent that she, indeed, had taken the big grade plunge.  "Please, Professor, please...anything, is there something I can do, any thing."  The latter any was spoken with that most naughty intonation and luring sparkle of the eyes that sends a clear message to any man that sexual favors were just put on the table.  And, oh yes, she being the very last one left in class alone with me, should the door close, and the process of "grade remediation" begin, who would know, no?


    But I had a date: pitchers of beer!  Even Angelina Jolie couldn't tear me away from that (though it would be interesting to have the opportunity to have her prove me wrong)!  So I snatched the test away from her (yes, that's all I snatched), tore my gaze away from her willing body, and bee-lined out the door...


    AND...HELLO!!  Standing directly outside the door, out of view but with his ear pinned to our conversation, was a 6'8", hugely-muscular BOYFRIEND who gave me a look that said "you lucky motha fucka cause I would have kicked ya ass, and then me and my bitch would have demanded an *A* for the course from the Dean along with morals charges against ya--but what the fuck is wrong with my bitch that you just walked out on her ass??"


    Like I said, straight for the beer and never looking back.

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