Even though Professor Margarine is a racist, sexist, stale toot, she does have some goodness in between her outlandish rants and incoherent babbling. (For the entire story, see previous posts 1, 2, 3, and 4.)
I’m convinced that even though she appears to have mashed potato brains, she has a warm, baked potato heart under those folds of saggy skin. Today, I want to reveal the pleasantness of this woman… because she is kind when it counts.
Part 1:
I am an anxiety bomb. I, personally, explode every time I come home with anything less than an “A.” I work hard, I edit myself quite a lot, and I derive a lot of unhealthy joy from excelling more than the average student. In class, I’m a brown-noser, I’m a hand-raiser, and I’m that annoying student who always wants to get MORE out of every instructor or situation. I hold others to a high standard because I hold myself to a high standard. This typically pisses other students off, but for teachers who have a real and profound desire to teach, I am their perfect pupil.
So I got my first “B” of the semester in Professor Margarine’s class. Of course, this meant that I flew off the handle and blamed poor old Marge. “Oh hell nah… a “B”?!?! What the fuck, man. What. The. Fuck. I went above and beyond what I was supposed to do. My annotated bibliography was fucking perfect, not to mention I added 4 more sources than the minimum due, when I’m sure the rest of those plebs in the class only did the smallest amount required. I am the queen of all schooling, bow to me Marge, for I am your greatest student ever.” Some ego trip like that. And as always, Quincy is the receptacle for all of this nonsense… at 2am on a weeknight before he has to take a very large exam himself. Great.
At this point, I’m obviously heated by this astounding lack of pandering to my ego. The next morning, after rage-sleeping in a coma of hatred, I woke up refreshed. “Today, I do battle with Marge. I will show her that I am the most bad-ass student who ever walked through those shitty community college doors.”
And then, a miracle occurred.
I was stuck on the highway on the way to the college behind a large “Source Naturals” brand truck. I shit you not, this was the most profound and wonderful moment of my week thus far. I’m a big fan of seeing “signs from the universe,” and today, God/The Universe/Giant Whatever in the Sky decided to speak loudly. On the back of the truck in bold letters was written, “May the Source be with you.” I froze. I was overcome with a Jedi mind-bender. It quickly dawned on me that old Marge was made by whatever made me… and just like that, the anger went away. I’m not even kidding… the despair, the feeling that I needed some kind of retribution, and the need to manipulate the situation for a measly “A” became irrelevant. Marge was a child of God, for Christ’s sake!
As I walked into the classroom, I felt immense compassion for Professor Margarine (as she dozed at her desk while we watched some horribly dated movie on Anthropology). It didn’t matter that she wasn’t actively teaching that day or any other day… because she had been teaching me all along. This wonderful woman, with all of her senial drivel, was teaching me to stop being a total asshat. She cut me a slice of humble pie.
When I approached her after class, instead of demanding an explanation for my unholy “B,” I asked her what I could do to improve my grade on the assignment. She carefully explained to me what I was missing… and she was right! Therefore, without complaint, I admitted that I was wrong and that I could do better.
Me: “I’m worried about my grade.”
Marge: “Let me pull it up on my computer… oh, why? This is your first grade that wasn’t an A.”
Me: “Yes, but I want all As.”
Marge: “Well, if you do (the extra credit), you’ll still technically have over 100% in the class.”
Me: “Done.”
Part 2:
Right after that conversation, another student approached her. This other student is a woman who is, shall we say, of the same generation as Professor Marge. She’s a kindly old lady and she’s always happy to be in class… even though I’d probably freak the hell out if I was still in undergrad in my 70’s. (Oh hey, welcome back, ego!)
This other student was SO HAPPY. I started to overhear the conversation… she had just had eye surgery and she was so happy to be able to SEE the crappy Anthropology videos Marge kept showing. My eyes welled up with tears. Marge embraced this student in a tight hug and they began to talk about the miracle of medical technology. I had to leave the room from all of the emotions. My throat was tight and I almost felt tears pouring down my face. HOW COULD I EVER JUDGE MARGE WHEN SHE WAS ABLE TO EXPRESS SUCH LOVE?! I felt like the biggest fool.
Part 3:
This part occurred in a separate classroom, but it was so pertinent to Marge, it drove the point home for me.
On a very serious and somber note, our school has had some unusual difficulties the last two weeks. My Spanish teacher sat us down and talked frankly about the problems some of the teachers had been encountering with a slew of unruly students making threats to various instructors.
“We may look like we have a lot of authority because we issue the grades, but we’re just people,” stated my Spanish teacher. “You don’t have to like any of us, but please respect us as people. Myself and my colleagues have been physically threatened by an inordinate amount of younger students the last two weeks and it has been terrifying. If you know anyone making physical or emotional threats, please report them.”
We all listened silently. There was so much sadness in the room, because my particular class is full of lovely people who all have high ambitions. All 30 of us genuinely like each other as people, and likewise, we adore our Spanish teacher. My heart ached for all of my teachers — especially Marge. Professor Margarine is just a loopy old lady, and even through she curses like a sailor and doesn’t like certain minority groups, she’s a person. She’s a human being. I would never, ever wish anything harmful on her or any of her academic colleagues. It would be great if she’d consider retiring from teaching, but all in all, she’s someone who is just as worthy as any of us. Aspects of her could certainly evolve, but I wouldn’t know what to do if any of the teachers or students were hurt by some confused individuals. Luckily, the students that were the culprits of the threats were expelled, but my Spanish teacher was clear about the reality that there were still people out there in our hallways that were causing unrest. We have a duty to protect our teachers and students. Schools should be a safe place for everybody… even awful teachers with big hearts.
Ermahgerd Perterters 