Wednesday, June 04, 2008
I wore a University of Missouri sweatshirt to work this evening, in direct violation of the "Thou shalt not wear anything demonstrating love for or affiliation with another university" rule; but the thermostat at the office registers sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit at the moment. My other sweatshirts lie buried beneath rancid, sweat-soaked gym clothes in the laundry baskets in my closet. Damned either way.
Before graduation in August, I need only complete one course: contemporary mathematics. On the first day of class, we drew truth tables. Days two and three were devoted to scientific notation. This week has been spent on unit conversions. The instructor, a young Turkish lady here for graduate study, looks back at us from the chalkboard every two minutes to say, "Everybody learned this in, I don't know, third grade, right? It is clear?" It obviously pains her as much to teach this nonsense as it does us to relearn it. She stretches the time as best she can, but releases us consistently at least twenty minutes early.
If I ever get suckered into having kids, I will drown them before I let them attend public school in America.
Labels: laundry, mathematics, office, sweater, teacher, teaching, The University of Missouri, time, truth tables, working
[Lauree Frances Keith concluded this diatribe at 6:20 PM]