The Cranky Professor

courtesy of http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=831

Another special colleague of mine is Crazy Eyes.  She got that nickname from the professor who teaches the Vietnam War class.  He says she’s got the same look as some of the scarier PTSD guest speakers he invites in.  He predicts a complete breakdown that might include firearms someday.

She’s very friendly, and very professional looking.  I can see why she was hired.  She wears a classic suit every day with low heels.  One day our Dean was up in our offices and she didn’t have her jacket on.  She crouched low and ran back to her office because she didn’t want to be seen out “uniform” by her supervisor.  She also was freaked out because there were stray papers on her desk.

She has one personal photo in her office: it’s an Olin Mills portrait of her and her dog.  She’s a vegan, because she loves animals, yet she wears leather.  Going out to eat with her is an ordeal, because she has very specific preparation demands.  I was warned about this when I was first hired.  I was also told that she would grill me for an hour about every aspect of my personal life, and if you ask questions about her, she’d refuse to tell you anything.

Are you married?  “Not now,” she’d say.
Do you have children? “That’s personal,” she’d say.

That was pretty much how the conversation went the first time we dined — vague answers or refusals to answer.  The irony of this is that she teaches interpersonal communication.

I heard that when she was first hired, they had to call her into human resources and demand to see her driver’s license so that they knew her real age in order to fill out the retirement forms  — apparently she left all age-related things blank on her application.  When she did come in, they had to scrape the white-out off of it because she’d painted out her date of birth.

All of this secrecy fueled curiosity about her among the faculty and staff … we would pool whatever tidbits we knew about her.    Stuff like the fact that she has a 24-page-syllabus (I’m not kidding) and she only takes baths.  When we went away on a retreat she demanded to know if there were bathtubs where we were staying because under no circumstances would she be showering.

I knew some of her former professors, so I got some of the real lowdown: she was married to a lawyer and they divorced.  She has at least two grown and married children and is most likely a grandma by now.

I also am a trained journalist, so I toodled around online and found out some other facts:

• She was born Nov. 1, 1950.
• She uses a post office box for her mail, but I also know her home address.
• I have her home phone number.

All of this would MORTIFY her if she knew I found these things out, but really, she should be aware that there is no such thing as personal privacy anymore.

She also owns a gun, which she says she uses when she goes hiking.

All-in-all, I think we can all agree that it must be VERY hard to be Crazy Eyes.  Something happened to her, and we’ll probably never know what.  But recently, there’s talk that she has a boyfriend…I hope that’s true, although I can’t imagine that she could open up enough for a relationship.  On the other hand, someone else I work with told me they saw her in flip flops and a toe ring, and I would have never believe that was possible either.  I’ll keep you posted.

I won first place in a chili cookoff today.

My recipe consisted of pouring 12 cans of Homel chili into a crockpot and entering it.

It’s midterm time and I’ve decided to include some tidbits on this site about my personal life.  It’s not just work that makes me Cranky!

I attended my great-aunt’s 90th birthday.  They’re a branch of the family I don’t see very often, and I don’t have that much in common with them.  Here’s a list of things I could do to really fit in with them:

1. Develop a love of all things NASCAR.  Specifically, I’d have to don a lot of Jimmie Johnson signature apparel, because the family roots for him.   Why him?  Because my family is Swedish, and they have some sort of freakish belief that Jimmie is Swedish, even though we have zero confirmation of that.  I think they’re basing it on his name and the fact that blue and yellow are his colors, which are also the colors of the Swedish flag.  Of course, his sponsor is Lowe’s, so that could also explain it, but shhhh!  Don’t spoil it for them.
2. Become morbidly obese.  There’s a fair amount of it on that side.
3. Lose some, if not all, of my natural teeth.
4. Become adept at creating their signature hors d’oeuvre:  a cocktail pick with a pickled onion, a green olive (with pimento) and a maraschino cherry.  Together.  On the same pick.    Perhaps this could help with numbers 3 and 4.
5. Invite my ex-husband to family parties like this.  They taught me that just because you split up 20 years ago doesn’t mean that you can’t come and pay your respects to your former great-aunt-in-law.
6. Reproduce early and often.  One of my cousins had a grandchild the same age as my son.

OK, so I’m dogging them a bit – you would have too.  It’s just too easy.  That being said, they were super duper nice to me, super supportive of each other and also super happy.  So although I throw stones, I can’t throw them very hard.  They’re nice people.  Just different.    However, I will tell you that it wasn’t a party that you’d be tempted to crash.  Every single one of them looked like they could throw you through a barroom window.

This is the first in a series about the wacky folks I work with, have worked with or am just amused by…

One of my colleagues is a swinger.  And I don’t mean that he’s a jitterbug enthusiast.  I mean that  he’s an “I’d like to have sex with your wife while you have sex with mine” enthusiast.  Now, you know, generally, I don’t care what people do in their private lives…Cranky’s a Libertarian!  The purpose of this blog entry and a few others is to make this point:  academia attracts oddballs.

I know what you’re wondering:  you’re wondering how I know my co-worker is a swinger.  Well, it was pretty easy.  He told me.   When I first met him, Professor Playboy was in the process of divorcing his first wife of 25 years, but apparently they had an “open relationship” while they were together.  PP used to travel a lot with his former career, and I guess whatever happened on the road was his business, and whatever happened with his wife while he was away was hers.

After he became a professor, PP began dating another woman about 25 years his junior, and since he was in town doing that, PP and his wife decided to split.  I was invited to Professor Playboy’s new place  where I was given the grand tour.  It consisted of the living room, where there were many artsy, black and white photos of nude women hanging all over the place.  Most of them were of naked women crouching in the forest. Apparently they were all former girlfriends of PP.  When I asked about the 20X30? framed, black and white photograph of a nude woman hanging above the fireplace, I found out that this was a photo of Professor Playboy’s ex-wife.

Mind you, PP’s new girlfriend was living with him in this house with her two children.  (My husband calls the girlfriend “Little Miss Slutty Pants,” but since she is now a professor herself at a nearby college, I prefer to call her Professor Slutty Pants).  Soon I got to see her naked too — there was another artsy, black and white 8X10 of her nude lying on a rock hanging in the bedroom.  I asked her why the ex-wife got to be front and center in the living room and she got totally gyped in the bedroom with her dinky 8X10, and she said “Hey, yeah!”

Now, you probably think that we call her “Slutty Pants” because she’s slutty.  But really, it’s because she wears slutty pants.  You know those jeans that strippers wear?  The ones that look like jeans in the back and jeans in the front, but on the sides they only have laces holding the two parts together?  She wore those to my house once.  Thus the nickname.

At this point I should tell you that there are few people on campus that I enjoy spending time with more than Professor Playboy.  He’s super funny, smart and quite delightful to hang out with.  However, he’s also a total perv and someday, it’s going to get him in trouble.

For example, one day he saw me at a school function and explained that Professor Slutty Pants really found my brother-in-law attractive and if he was interested, she was available for a quickie, one-nighter, or ongoing thing.

There was also the time that I saw him on campus and I had recently begun orthodontic treatment for my totally jacked up teeth.  I said “Hey, how do you like my braces?” and he said “They look adorable.  Someday I hope to see you in nothing BUT your braces….oh hey, did I just say that?  Put that in my file!”

Now, knowing what I know about Professor Playboy, I take his comments in stride…he’s already invited my husband and I out to dinner with Professor Slutty Pants, and I think it was to find out if we would be willing to do a swapping thing…but we’re not into that and he knows it — but I worry that he’s going to joke around with the wrong person some day.

That would make me sad.  Because even though he’s a total horn dog, I really enjoy working with colorful folks like Professor Playboy.  He’s  an excellent instructor, gifted in his field, and never, ever dull.  I think that strong personalities are an asset in education.  Maybe that’s why academia is so full of characters.  Let’s just hope that Professor Playboy can keep it on the downlow somehow.

Frustration -- from emagic on flikr

TAs at my college are paid minimum wage.  For that minimum wage, they have the privilege of hanging out with me, listening to show tunes, and doing a myriad of horrible, tedious tasks.  If you ask the TAs I’ve had in the past which of those three things is the worst, they’lll probably have a hard time answering…it’s not that easy working with a cranky professor.

So the one that I had last semester was willing to come back, probably because he, on some level, is punishing himself for something.  I liken it to the way some women hate themselves, so they date assholes, one after the other.  In any case, for whatever reason, he was willing to take care of all of my shit work once again for a pittance.

Until yesterday … and contrary to what you might think, it wasn’t my fault.

Let me start by telling you that we have a parking problem on this campus.  (Hang with me here, it really is relevant).  We are a commuter campus and we passed a bond measure three years ago that has created a lot of upheaval due to construction — and for some reason, the bond didn’t include plans for a parking structure.  As a result, parking is a total cluster fuck right now.  You’ll be happy to note that I don’t have any worries because I have a handicapped permit that I use without shame.

However, the parking shortage has affected everyone on campus — students are late to class (and I don’t mean by 10 minutes — we’re talking 45 minutes or an hour).  Faculty and staff don’t have enough parking either and are frequently late.   We’ve all been asked to try and cut students some slack  for the first two weeks while everyone guestimates how long, on average, it will take to find a spot and adjust accordingly.   A generally pissy attitude permeates the campus right now, and I blame the parking.

This is the email I received from my TA, with specific references deleted or changed:

So today was very bad for me. One that involved some yelling, crying, and much pride swallowing.

As you know, I had checked the secretary’s office several times during her office hours on monday, and each time it seemed that I somehow kept missing her. This morning I waited outside the building until 9:30 rolled around, and once it was 9:38 and she wasn’t there I had to go to class (History 114, in which I don’t have a desk, but a chair by the door and the trashcan).

So I figure, “Okay, I’ll check after class. Statistically speaking, odds are if I keep checking between 9:30 and 1:30 I’ll eventually find her.”

Class ends around 11:20, I mosey on down, but I decide to call first. Answering machine again. I leave a couple messages because my first one gets cut off, and I make the long trek to my parking spot on the farthest corner of campus. Just as I’m about to call it a day and head home, the secretary calls. I’m literally just opening my car door, so I don’t pick up in time. I try calling her back, but her line’s busy. I keep calling. Still busy. It’s at this time I decide to run like hell to catch this lady before I have to wait another day. I get winded by the driving range (because I’m not in great shape these days) and start walking. I manage to start running again once I’m actually on campus again, then as I finally get inside the secretary’s door, I’m not a happy guy at all. I threw my headphones to the ground (not a great move, actually).

And I quote:
TA: “I got your call just as I was heading home for the day. I parked all the way past the fucking driving range.”

Secretary: “You will not talk to me in that tone. You will pick up those headphones and get out of my office.”

So I do. She then wants me to speak to the Dean, and I can see where this is going. I’m pretty upset at this point, and so is she. She tells him that I was cursing at her, and leaning over her desk in a threatening manner. I try to explain my side of the story, and how if I’m late to work or class, I get punished for it. But he basically says that he has final say about who gets hired, and that he’s going to call you to tell you about my behavior.  The Dean asks how old I am, and tells me to just stop talking even after I apologize numerous times. He then asks me to apologize to the secretary, and I do, and then he commands me to “Mean it.”

We leave the room, and start the paperwork process. She’s making copies of my info, and I tell her that I’m not normally like this, that I really need to start working as soon as possible, that I just bought a book that cost more than my life savings (which is depressingly true), and I apologize again. She says “If I had really pressed the issue, you would not be getting this job. But I want you to have this job. I think we should start over.” To which I agree.

Now I’m walking around campus trying to get signatures. This whole time, all I needed was a piece of paper with some signatures. I’m also crying at this point, which was horribly humiliating, because I’m a cryer. The office ladies look at me funny, as do quite a few students. So I go to your office (because I am in no shape to make that trip to my car with tears running down my face) and I see my Psychology teacher from my first semester, (who better than a shrink to talk to after a hard day?). I tell him my ordeal, how I overreacted, and he gives me a hug. I then finally find the strength to make it to my car, drive home, walk the dog, eat, and fall asleep watching Scrubs.

Earlier, the secretary mentioned that she has been having trouble finding parking. I showed up today 1 hour 20 minutes early to find parking. I leave the house, a 20 minute drive on the street, over an hour early every day for class, because none of my teachers accept late work, some of them deduct points for missing roll call, some of them start dropping late people to make room. I apologize after class to the teacher if I’m late. And If I’m late at Barnes & Noble, a woman named Willhemina reminds me that I’m late, and I don’t get paid until I clock in. Not being able to find parking isn’t exactly responsible of an adult, and it’s not professional.

I wanted to apologize to you because of how this might make you look. You know me, I’m not an angry guy. Angsty sure, but I don’t normally lose my temper unless my patience (which the Dean said I needed more of, and I should wait more than 8 minutes after someone’s start time before leaving, since I don’t have anything more important to do) has run out.

So my point is I don’t think I can take this job, not after being humiliated like that, and not after making you look bad. I need the money. I really, really truly do. But my Psych teacher said something along the lines of “Don’t kill yourself over a minimum wage job.” And it’s true. I’m a wage slaving little bitch who takes crap from everyone for every reason. Today I got treated like I was back in 5th grade because of my behavior, but I learned a really important lesson: Stop taking crap from people for $8 an hour. It’s just not worth it.

Once again, I’m sorry, and truly value your advice and frienship,
Cranky’s TA

This just makes me sad.  It should make us all re-think the way we treat others.

There is, however, one really important lesson that can we can take away from all of this:  NEVER EVER FUCK WITH SECRETARIES!  Like it or not, they run everything and they can take you down to Chinatown whenever they feel like it.  And they will.  Just for their own sheer pleasure.  There is a secretary here that is a colossal lazy ass.  Somehow she goaded someone over in tech support to install solitaire on her office computer, and she’s constantly playing it.  She sells Avon and her office is a sea of little paper bags full of orders.  But I make a ritual of kissing her ass on a regular basis, because if I ever need a repair, an approval or a supply item, it’s down to her.

So even I, Cranky, am going to be more sensitive to others (but not on this blog…I gotta keep it edgy).  I’m also going to go bring the secretary a nice chocolate after I’m done posting.  I might be asking for a new monitor for my computer soon and I’m hoping she can make that happen…

Every semester, there is ONE: the student who will be a colossal pain in the ass all semester.  It only took me two days to find her.  We’ll call her Lulu, because she is one.  Periodically throughout the semester, I’ll be keeping you up to date on Lulu and her progress in my class and the various stunts she pulls.

Unfortunately, she is a distance ed student, so I can’t really give you much to go on as to her physical attributes or personal ticks.  All I really know about her is that she’s pretty dumb AND pretty pushy  (if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t be the ONE).  The worst kind of student is dumb, pushy, BUT thinks she’s really smart.  Lulu might fall into that category, but I haven’t had time to determine whether she thinks she’s a genius yet.

Oh, I know what you’re thinking.  You’re thinking “Someone who has dedicated her life to teaching really shouldn’t call students dumb.”  Well, I’ve been in the business a long time, and I used to think there weren’t really dumb people in the world, there were just people who, say, never had the opportunity to develop good study habits, or they had a learning disability, or they were shortchanged by their previous educators.  What I’ve discovered, though, is that there really are some dim bulbs out there.  Some folks, unfortunately, just aren’t the sharpest tacks.  That doesn’t mean they can’t be successful or have a very fine life – let’s face it, being a genius doesn’t equate to wealth.  Look at Hollywood – there’s a whole lot of dumb there AND a whole lot of money.    There are also dumb questions, but that’s another topic entirely.

In the 4 days that school has been in session, Lulu has sent me about 6 emails, none of which specify which course she’s enrolled in.  She never bothers with niceties like Dear Professor Cranky, and most of the time, she doesn’t sign her name.

A typical email is just a demand, something  like “Send me a copy of the syllabus” and when I email her back to ask what class she’s in, she answers with another email that never answers my question and is, in fact, another question that I can’t answer until she tells me what class she’s in.  Finally she emailed me this week with this statement:  “I don’t think you should make us do the guest speaker assignment because it’s too much of a hassle.”

Oh Lulu, when will you understand that getting an education is pretty much a series of gigantic hassles?

I wrote her back and told her that it was my job to inconvenience her as much as possible, so she’d just have to do it.

For purposes of this blog, I’m going to call my boss Higgins, because he’s a little bit hung up on doing the proper thing, like Higgins on Magnum, PI.  As a result, I’m kind of a constant disappointment to him.  I don’t take a lot of the things that he values very much seriously enough, and I know that makes me kind of a wild card in his book.  But hey, I’m the Cranky Prof.  I’m not supposed to be buddy-buddy with him.  I’m cranky and proud of it.

Higgins is in a graduate program for administrators. Unfortunately for every member of our department, he’s really latched on to implementing management techniques, and it’s driving us all nuts.

Last Friday we had a 3-hour department meeting. It kicked off with something called “helium stick.” Everyone at each table had to hold on to a very long stick using one finger (need I say which finger I used?) Our goal was to work collectively to lower it to the ground. That sucked up about 15 minutes that I’ll never get back.

For the next 2 hours and 45 minutes we watched a series of YouTube videos about the 21st century student. It told us a bunch of stuff we already freaking know, like the fact that students like to text and surf the web and post scandalous things on myspace. Doy. Then everyone at the table had a role (recorder, reporter, cheerleader, philosopher, skeptic) and we had to write down something that surprised us and something we picked up on that we could use in the classroom. I didn’t get the skeptic role…

We’d go around from table to table, sharing what we learned. At one point, a colleague named Mildred (who is in her 40s but as soon as she opens her pie hole, you’d swear she was in her 90s) nearly broke down and said in a quivering voice that all of this technology was all well and good, “but if students can’t connect on a deeper level with literature…I believe it will be the death of our civilization.” Ugh. The skeptic at our table summed it all up when he advised everyone to “buy gold and get a panic room.”

To watch the lamest of the videos we watched, click here and try not to sympathy cringe for these poor students who are acting like idiots:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBeWEgvGm2Y

Now you know why I need a sabbatical.