I now present…True Tales From Class:
Every professor here at Very Serious University lives in fear of getting a yellow form in their mailbox at the beginning of each semester. The yellow form indicates that one of your students has some type of problem that is registered with the Office of Special Needs. More often than not it’s something minor like dyslexia or a hearing problem. Every so often, though, things get a little weird.
Back in January, I hesitantly approached my mailbox with a friend and saw that we both had yellow forms. We nervously read them, and I asked my friend: “What’s yours?”
Relieved, she said; “It’s just A.D.D. What’s yours?”
I looked down at the form, which concerned a boy named Scott, and saw that it was labeled: “Delusional.”
Blinking, I said, “it says ‘delusional’.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I have no idea.”
I’ve never had a delusional student before, so I went to the first class (British Literature) somewhat trepidatiously. However, Scott turned out to be a perfectly normal looking guy.
Things started to get weird during the second class. Scott, who was sitting by the window, started waving his hand and asked: “Excuse me, can I switch seats to the other side of the room?”
Puzzled, I asked why. Scott then told me: “I can hear the sun.”
(The truly bizarre part about this is that the class starts at 7:00pm, and the sun isn’t even out. Apparently, he can hear it from Los Angeles).
At the third class, during roll call, after calling his name he threw his hand up into the air again. When I called on him, he said: “Would you please call me ‘Count’?”
“Um…why?” I asked, falling right into it.
“It’s my title,” he said.
I consulted the roster. “It says here your name is Scott,” I said.
“My name is Scott,” he said. “My title is Count.”
I just stared, along with several students. “You’re trying to tell me you have peerage?” He nodded, enthusiastically. “In what country?” I demanded, “the United States doesn’t have Counts.”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said, mysteriously.
He refused to let me carry on with class until I addressed him as “Count.” His logic was simple:
“I call you Professor,” he said.
“But I actually am a professor,” I kept saying, only to have him reply:
“Well, I actually am a Count.”
Little did I know then how much confusion and chaos the Count was going to inflict on me and the other students. Looking back, I should have known.
Stay tuned for further Count adventures!
Every professor here at Very Serious University lives in fear of getting a yellow form in their mailbox at the beginning of each semester. The yellow form indicates that one of your students has some type of problem that is registered with the Office of Special Needs. More often than not it’s something minor like dyslexia or a hearing problem. Every so often, though, things get a little weird.
Back in January, I hesitantly approached my mailbox with a friend and saw that we both had yellow forms. We nervously read them, and I asked my friend: “What’s yours?”
Relieved, she said; “It’s just A.D.D. What’s yours?”
I looked down at the form, which concerned a boy named Scott, and saw that it was labeled: “Delusional.”
Blinking, I said, “it says ‘delusional’.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I have no idea.”
I’ve never had a delusional student before, so I went to the first class (British Literature) somewhat trepidatiously. However, Scott turned out to be a perfectly normal looking guy.
Things started to get weird during the second class. Scott, who was sitting by the window, started waving his hand and asked: “Excuse me, can I switch seats to the other side of the room?”
Puzzled, I asked why. Scott then told me: “I can hear the sun.”
(The truly bizarre part about this is that the class starts at 7:00pm, and the sun isn’t even out. Apparently, he can hear it from Los Angeles).
At the third class, during roll call, after calling his name he threw his hand up into the air again. When I called on him, he said: “Would you please call me ‘Count’?”
“Um…why?” I asked, falling right into it.
“It’s my title,” he said.
I consulted the roster. “It says here your name is Scott,” I said.
“My name is Scott,” he said. “My title is Count.”
I just stared, along with several students. “You’re trying to tell me you have peerage?” He nodded, enthusiastically. “In what country?” I demanded, “the United States doesn’t have Counts.”
“I can’t tell you that,” he said, mysteriously.
He refused to let me carry on with class until I addressed him as “Count.” His logic was simple:
“I call you Professor,” he said.
“But I actually am a professor,” I kept saying, only to have him reply:
“Well, I actually am a Count.”
Little did I know then how much confusion and chaos the Count was going to inflict on me and the other students. Looking back, I should have known.
Stay tuned for further Count adventures!
posted by Roxanne Brennan @ 7:10 AM
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