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September 07, 2005
Back in School
I'm back in school. I thought I'd never be back, but now here I am -- sort of.
I walk into the classroom on Mondays and before class starts I once again hear stories about the excitement of underage drinking. The stories are relayed with a novelty only a month ago I though I'd never hear again, "Dude, it was so awesome! We all went to Baltimore and hit these bars and got so wasted."
Yesterday I made the mistake of joining in on the conversation.
"I didn't know you were 21. How old are you?"
"umm...20."
"Oh." I stopped for a second. "I went to a bar this weekend too, but I'm over 21."
"You don't look a day over 19" was the reply.
The reply to that from the classroom full of 19 and 20 year olds was laughter and agreement.
So I guess I look a little innocent. I didn't when I was 19. Not to my professor, at least.
I was taking a calculus class - Calculus 2, I believe - with a professor from Russia. She had a strong accent and all I could realy understand well was that she was upset the class didn't stand up when she entered the room. I was able to understand that because repeated it so often. She told us at least twice a week.
Though not everything she said was crystal clear to me I got by. I think it was because I had a lot more experience with accents than the other students. They would constantly put on puzzled looks ask her to repeat what she had said. She would complain that the students interrupted her "recitation," but would reluctantly repeat herself.
The guy that sat next to me grew weary of constantly asking her for clarification and seeing that I wasn't totally lost started asking me what she said. "What the fuck is she saying?"
If I remembered anything about calculus at this point I'd tell you something that she could have said, but since I remember nothing I hope your satisfied knowing I would just repeat what she said. Only I would use a Wisconsonian accent instead of Russian. Wisconsonian being totally acceptable at the school since it was in Chicago.
"I can't understand a fucking word this bitch is saying. What the hell is delta?"
Something calculus related I'd lean over and whisper back.
Once in a while the teacher would see me. She would stare at me until I stopped at which point she'd often go into some story about Russian schools. "If you were in a Russian school right now you'd be wearing uniforms and working out every morning before class. You would have to stand up every time I entered the room..." then she'd go on with the class.
I didn't think anything of it until she asked me to stay after class one day. She had me wait until all the other students were gone then she calmly asked me to drop her class.
"What? Why?"
"I would like you to quit this class. I can't handle teaching the class with you in it."
"What?"
"I walk into the room and I see you and my heart just sinks. I want to turn around and leave the classroom."
"What are you talking about?"
"You know what I'm talking about."
"umm... No I don't."
"You are constantly calling me obscene names when I turn around to give my recitation. I hear you calling me 'bitch,' 'fucking bitch' and these things."
"No, I don't. Why would I do that?"
"I have no idea; and this is why I have such a sad feeling when I see that you are in class."
"Well, I don't say anything like that."
"Yes, you do. I know it is you."
"I don't even talk in class." I said.
"I see you. I see you when I turn around and I want to kick you out of my class right then. I don't know how you can be so rude. So mean."
"Oh, that. Once in a while I tell the guy next to me what you said. He can't understand your accent."
"No. He is good boy. He says nothing in class."
"What?"
"You. You are the bad one. I know I cannot make you, but I urge you to drop this class. Ok?"
"Whatever."
I didn't drop the class and she never spoke to me again. Until the final.
She called me up to her desk in the middle of the final. "Where are you from?" she asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Where do you live. Your parents. Where do they live?"
"Wisconsin."
"where in Wisconsin? Milwaukee? A big city?"
"Stevens Point."
"I've nevere heard of it."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to know where such a rude boy came from."
"Oh, yeah. Wisconsin. The state's full of us."
"And you all do such things with your hair?" My hair was dyed blue. "This is normal there?"
"It's traditional. Yeah."
"Oh, my. Please. Please. Finish your exam."
After that I was off the hook on acount of my upbringing and I got a B+ in the class. The guy that sat next to me got a D-.
Posted by calculatoronfire at September 7, 2005 02:04 PM
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Comments
you're lucky she didn't fail you out of spite. :P
how did you get good at accents in WISCONSIN?? It's not like small-town wisconsin is known for its ethnic diversity. does this have something to do with your stories of you & your dad jaunting off to europe? hmhm??
Posted by: d2ana at September 9, 2005 08:43 AM