I’ve decided to compose a list of all the reasons I hate community college. I know that this will fall upon a majority of deaf ears, but I hope that someone, somewhere will completely agree with everything I say, maybe even come to revere me as some sort of a cosmic force armed with lightening bolts of wit and a chariot used to make the sun rise every morning, but if I want to be realistic you’ll all probably just call me dramatic and way off base. I do feel that I have extensive experience dealing with the trials and tribulations of community college though, and since I’m bored and don’t find any of my worthless assignments worth doing right now, I thought I’d write this instead, holla back if you agree son.
Dearest Professor (insert name here),
-The classroom is not a comedy club, the whiteboard behind you isn’t a faux brick wall with a blinking neon sign, and your audience did not pay to hear you crack jokes about shit that happened in the 80’s. Maybe you do find Far Side cartoons funny, but sharing seven of them before each power point is ridiculous; your cat doesn’t look cute, not even when dressed up like a “wittle princess”, and if you ever try to relate geology to Lord of the Rings again I’ll fucking kill you.
-Stop showing favoritism towards the baby boomers taking up space in your class. Stop allowing their random stories about art museums and color blindness, no one cares, please believe me.
-Learn to speak English.
-I have a life existing independently outside your class. Even though your syllabus clearly states that work-scheduling conflicts aren’t a valid excuse for not attending class I still have rent and a cigarette addiction, not to mention tuition and the $120 in books you assigned me, and they don’t exactly pay for themselves. I’ve noted several occasions upon which my approach to your door was met with a note declaring class cancelled. Now, I don’t know who told you that you could have the day off, especially for such an unimportant thing like a funeral, but it wasn’t me, and since I’m using my income to compensate you for a service you tell me you can deliver, I expect a written apology on my desk by Monday morning and a note from the coroner verify that your mother is in fact dead… although I’m sure that she was a beautiful women and I’m sorry for your loss…
-When I ask you a question, I don’t want my intelligence insulted along with the answer. I’m sorry for asking you if the rock in my hand is mafic rhyolite with angular rounding or polyphoritic schist, but it is your job, I asked you with good intentions and I expect your answer to follow suite. I’ll admit that you know more than me in any given subject, your seven doctorates and lack of a marriage clearly indicate that to me, but you do have to remember that you’re class is titled “Intro-“ for a reason. Talking to me like an idiot does nothing but make me hate you, and during your worthless lectures I’ll be daydreaming about a situation in which we both find ourselves on a football field; you look slightly like a pit bull and I’m wearing a Ravens jersey. Eventually I will cease to ask questions, flunk your class and with enough students following trend you’ll find yourself without employment…except if you have tenure, then you can go on doing a shitty job.
-Maybe hire counselors with a normal chromosome count. I don’t like to use the word but you folks are retarded. Numbers following a class’s title don’t indicate order; Bio 1 is harder than 3, Polsci 24 is much more challenging than Polsci 174 and as the Art classes are seemingly at random don’t even try to explain them to me. Don’t tell me that a class meets a requirement if it doesn’t, and I didn’t want the form read back to me I wanted it explained to me. Maybe I’d have more time to voice these complaints to you but unfortunately your two hour lunch brake cut into our appointment, you might not remember that time I missed class waiting for you only to be blatantly lied to, but I can’t hold it against you because you were really busy putting up those pictures of kids who go nowhere in life because they count the office staff like yourself as friends and spend all their time microwaving cup-of-noodles for you. Do I get priority registration if I sit and listen to you talk about how ungrateful your spouse is? My high school counselor told me more about college than you did.
-You are not an English teacher, do not correct my grammar. Do not mark me down on a test because you couldn’t read my writing, even though my answers were right and you could clearly tell the difference between a scribbled “Subvergent” and “Convergent”, my S’s don’t look like C’s you spiteful temptress, holding that passing grade in front of me like that. If, as a professor, you ever hear yourself tell a class on the first day that you have never had someone pass with an A, feel free to slap yourself in the face repeatedly until the blood is allowed passage back into your brain. If you threaten to drop me a whole letter grade for my phone going off in class I’ll take the liberty of slapping you myself.
-And, to every terrible college professor out there, just because you have audiences in varying fifty minute periods throughout the day does not enable you to walk on water, heal leprosy or rise from the dead, but do feel free to ascend into hell. Only a striking 20% of the individuals taking your class will ever see a degree at the end of the road so please take your time, maybe during that huge vacation you get every summer you could teach yourself how to use Blackboard, or pry the soapbox off the bottom of your feet, or---and I know this is crazy---but maybe you could become a normal human being and teach me something.
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