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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I was in my chemistry class (lecture #2) and the professor was asking a series of questions. At first, hands were flying up, the answers were easy. But as questions got more complex, and the odds of being right fell off, confidence and raised-hands faltered. I sit the front row because I film the lectures on my iPad, and there I was, doing my usual bit - taking detailed, color coded notes. If the lecturer mentioned something, I noted it, with my #5 mechanical pencil, but that something could become a heading or a bullet-point in a larger tableau. Those, I would color code with one of several gel pens - tracing carefully over the pencil. Later, in review, I might hi-lite these points with neon, phosphorescent highlighters. (I have a strict color coding system). I tell you all that because it describes how focused I get on my note taking in classes. I don’t usually interact much due to my filming. Suddenly, I noticed an unusual hush. I looked up and realized, to my trauma, that the professor had addressed me. He was looking fixedly at me, bent over with his hands on his knees (he’s on a platform). “Pardon?” I said, meekly. “Don’t just mouth the answer,” he repeated (apparently), exasperatedly, “say it out loud!” I thought back to his last question and I offered, “Magnesium nitride,” but he tilted his head like he was waiting for more, “gave off ammonia as it mixed with the water?” I finish the answer like a question. “Exactly!” he said, standing back up after giving his knees a little slap with his palms. “Thanks for JOINING us,” he says, and after checking his seating chart on his lectern, he added, “MS. Vionet.” I took a shocked umbrage at this (scolding?), my whole body turning a defensive, atomic pink. What did I do - I thought - why was he being so sassy with me? I doubt he REALLY wants answers just called out. It might be a long year.
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