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Sep. 3rd, 2008 09:31 amI am at work at 9:30 in the morning; I have been here since 8:45. THIS IS UNNATURAL.
(and before anyone starts crying about how they go to work at stupid o'clock, please bear in mind that I have been arriving at work at 10am for the past four and a half years.)
Class yesterday left me with an angry face. For starters, the air doesn't apparently work in that room and yesterday was quite warm. It's also a small room and the door and windows were shut. Full house.
Yeah, can you imagine that funk? It smelled like sweaty ass. Gag.
On top of that, the professor doesn't seem to know what the fuck she is doing. If she has a lesson plan, I'll eat my hat. Not only that, but at one point, she took us into the drawing studio and gave us paper and charcol and told us to draw. DRAW?! This is a fucking art history class. If I wanted to draw, I would have taken DRAWING. The syllabus also instructs us to buy a sketchbook and graphite. I can't draw to save my goddamn life; I'm not a fucking artist.
I'm giving it a couple of classes, just to see if maybe this was only first day issues. But, if things don't ship the fuck up, I'm shipping the fuck out.
I was also not alone in these feelings as there were mighty grumblings from the other students. At one point towards the end of class, the professor was kind of waffling around and flipping through the text book, trying to figure out where her fucking shoes were or something, and a girl on the other side of the room spoke up and said, "Would you like us to read the chapter, so we can be prepared for next class?" in this very pointedly snarky voice. And the professor looked up from her navel meditation and said, "Oh. Yeah. That would be great." and went back to it.
I do not compute.
How the hell can you be a teacher and be like this?
(and before anyone starts crying about how they go to work at stupid o'clock, please bear in mind that I have been arriving at work at 10am for the past four and a half years.)
Class yesterday left me with an angry face. For starters, the air doesn't apparently work in that room and yesterday was quite warm. It's also a small room and the door and windows were shut. Full house.
Yeah, can you imagine that funk? It smelled like sweaty ass. Gag.
On top of that, the professor doesn't seem to know what the fuck she is doing. If she has a lesson plan, I'll eat my hat. Not only that, but at one point, she took us into the drawing studio and gave us paper and charcol and told us to draw. DRAW?! This is a fucking art history class. If I wanted to draw, I would have taken DRAWING. The syllabus also instructs us to buy a sketchbook and graphite. I can't draw to save my goddamn life; I'm not a fucking artist.
I'm giving it a couple of classes, just to see if maybe this was only first day issues. But, if things don't ship the fuck up, I'm shipping the fuck out.
I was also not alone in these feelings as there were mighty grumblings from the other students. At one point towards the end of class, the professor was kind of waffling around and flipping through the text book, trying to figure out where her fucking shoes were or something, and a girl on the other side of the room spoke up and said, "Would you like us to read the chapter, so we can be prepared for next class?" in this very pointedly snarky voice. And the professor looked up from her navel meditation and said, "Oh. Yeah. That would be great." and went back to it.
I do not compute.
How the hell can you be a teacher and be like this?