I know that I’m hot shit. I graduated from Yale with a Classics degree, a 4.2 GPA, and an acceptance to Columbia’s highly selective Classics Ph.D. program. Life was great up until my fourth year—I was scoring straight A+’s in my classes, TA’ing a few lectures, brainstorming ideas for my kickass dissertation, and getting put on a pedestal by the other women in the department.
Then my fourth year in the Ph.D rolled around. I was informed that I would become something called a “Teaching Fellow.” What does that mean, you may ask? I was ordered to teach a class of 18-year-old little shits some easy beach reads, like the Iliad and To the Fucking Lighthouse. I thought it would be relatively painless—who doesn’t want to breeze through an 8:10AM class on the picture book masterpieces of the Western Canon?
I maintained my optimistic attitude until the first day of class. Some neuro major kept on answering all of my questions, and I’m pretty sure that a kid in a “Columbia soccer” sweatshirt fell asleep in the back. Why the fuck weren’t any of these intellectually spoonfed little runts participating? Didn’t they reread the 500 pages I assigned for the first day of class? And memorize all the possible quote I.D.s? It’s not like this stuff is hard. Come on, people. Middle schoolers in Louisiana read these books when they come home to their houseboats. I was under the impression that my students would be literate. Evidently, I was wrong. I’m not getting my Ph.D. in Classics to teach you how to read.
I bet these chucklefucks can’t even begin to understand just how far the intertextuality in this class goes. I bet the connection between Genesis and Crime and Punishment, which anyone not dropped as a baby can ascertain in one cursory glance, was completely lost on these cognitive invalids.
And if you’re in my class, let me ask you something: did you really think, with your misshapen, swollen head, that I believe you read that printed out PDF of the Bible? How many PawPrint dollars did you charge to your parents’ unlimited credit line right before class to print that stack out?
From now on, participation no longer counts, because I don’t give a flying fuck what you think. I would give each of you a muzzle if the head of the department didn’t see my course evals.
Let’s make a deal: everyone in this class is getting an A- or B+, depending on how pretty you are and whether you laughed at my joke on the first day. Now stop showing up so I can get some adult reading done. And if you’re an econ major, go punch yourself in the dick with your Sperrys.