For some reason I have yet to fathom, the school keeps letting students into classes, in week 2. Usually this I not too much of a problem, I haven’t done anything earth shattering that would require special instruction, but it does mean that I have to carry around extra syllabus far more than I would like to. My bag is not that big after you stuff in a grade book, text and folder not to mention the fact that the damn thing is more to look pretty than to be functional.

So a new student came to class on Monday, I gave here a syllabus and told her to read it over and come to my office or email me with questions. She showed up in my office this morning. I came in and she was sitting on the floor in front of my door. “I was wondering when you were coming in,” she said. I should have known at that moment that this was going to go down hill. My office hours are not only on the front page of the syllabus, but my schedule is also posted on the office door, in neon green. I pointed this out to her, but she did not seem phased. “Abandon hope all ye who enter here” I though as I went through the door.

She had two problems she said, and I knew that I was screwed. First, my syllabus said that all work had to be typed on a computer or word processor. I must have given here a strange look at this point because truthfully I was thinking that not one professor in the whole damn school would accept a paper that is handwritten. Her computer, it seemed, was broken and she could not afford to fix it. I pointed out that there are a myriad of computer labs on campus and she should use one of those. “But that would take me so long! And besides, I have three kids.” What I felt like saying is, “I don’t care.” Look I am not a heartless bitch, well sometimes I am, but that is not the point. I feel for those who come to school with children at home, I really do. But I don’t see how that should matter at all in their class work unless there was an emergency with the children. Honestly I would expect that anyone who has signed up for classes would already have a plan about the three small children. Not to mention the fact that because we are a large commuter school, the majority of our students are non traditional, meaning that again a majority of them are not 18 and they also have families. Which means? You’re nothing special.

She did not like my advice that she plan ahead and give herself plenty of time to complete assignments, work in small stretches and so forth. Than came the second problem. “It says here that you do not accept late work.” “Yes,” I said expecting that she would ask about some problem with a future absence. “So what should I do then?” she asked. I was dumbfounded. “What do you means?” “Well what should I do about late work then?” The obvious answer here is of course not to turn work in late, but that answer did not seem to make her happy. And the semester is off to a roaring start.

So right after the road trip everywhere that was my Christmas, we set off for places unknown, well unknown to us, Philadelphia and the MLA convention. I had never been and I was excited at the prospect of meeting other academic and hearing some first rate scholarship, all cutting edge and stuff. Also I would see some grad school friends who I have not seen in awhile. After all that is what conferences are for right, to meet up with some friends. So I guess my expectations were high for a good and intellectually stimulating time. I know, I know, most people with previous MLA experience are currently shaking their heads and muttering “Oh silly, silly girl.” And, well, you were right. I had a luncheon on my first day and as the saying goes, it all went downhill from there. I have never been in a place that was at once so pretentious and desperate.

Of course I expected the desperation from the scads of candidates that are there of course to interview, but I did not expect the overwhelming aura that would permeate every corner of the hotel, even the lady’s room. I would probably appreciate their poor lot in life if I had actually interviewed at MLA, but going with a full time job creates a bit of distance. I will also say that I am also very, very, very glad that I did not have to interview anyone there. Let’s just say that a day cooped up with colleagues and crazy interviewee’s can drive people crazy and lead them to drink many beers. But this also means fun for the friends who get to listen to the stories.

I did learn that if you really want to freak people out you should take off your name tag any time that you are not actually attending a panel. It seems that at MLA everyone wears their name tag everywhere, to dinner, to the hotel bar, to lunch and to sightsee. I do not see why we feel the obligation to stay tagged once we escape our wood paneled cages. But it seems to be the one way that people can decide if they would like to enter a conversation with you. If you are from an interesting school, or a chair or coordinator of something, then you would be worth a full on conversation, if not, well expect that people will soon fly. One of my friends has done very well in the two years he has been out of school and was appointed a coordinator of general education. He likes his job and those of us that know him think that he is brilliant and sweet and we are glad for his success. But at the MLA, he was like a limping gazelle. Poor guy, he could not take ten steps before he would be assaulted by people who wanted a job. He soon adopted by no name tag rule as well.

But the pretension is what got me. One night as well drank into the wee hours at the hotel bar our group grew large, as sometimes happens. Friends from grad school brought over colleagues, or people they knew from other jobs ect. Most people were, if not fun and interesting, at least harmless, but some were so outrageously obnoxious and irritating that they were lucky we were all drinking. These were the people who wanted to make sure that you knew where they went to school and where they teach now, how much they get paid, how much they have published, how little they teach and on and on. I love these people; I would like to see them come teach at my school, with underprivileged and ill-prepared students. You know a place where you might be able to help someone. Better yet let them stay where they are, we don’t need or want them.