Boring
For the first time in my academic career, I have a Saturday class. What does that mean? For me, it has several unpleasant meanings. It means that for 2 and a half hours every Saturday I get to go and have a highly-trained professional read me a textbook off of Power Point slides. It means that I don’t get to sleep in even one day in the week, but mostly it means that a life whose boring scale ranking would normally be at a 7 is now at a 9.5. I can’t express in human speech how unpleasant it is to spend time on Saturday in a room where 40 people are bored out of their minds and one person hoards the authority to speak like a penny pinching miser; never relinquishing despite the steady drip of cerebro-spinal fluid from 80 ears to one indifferent floor. Honestly, it’s that bad.
I don’t know that I would have as much of a problem if I understood his motivation. He is well-off financially, so he can’t be doing it for the money. He seems as under-prepared as a monkey in a calculus class, so I can’t imagine it is for the love of teaching. And I imagine that a donation to UVSC would be an easier, more effective way to “pay it forward” than ruining an entire semester of my life. Although, I admit that I haven’t adequately contemplated the indirect effects of a more brain-dead, less likable me. Maybe it really is better for everyone concerned than money would be.
