Today was the first day of my 7:30am summer class, English 1B. I took English 1A in 1994 during my undergraduate years when I cared only about sleeping, partying, dancing, drinking and springboard diving...in that order. Note that academics didn't even make the top 5. Hence, my grade was an abysmal C+. I completely missed the point of the class and really didn't care to get it, either.
Now, I know that a C+ won't get me too far in the graduate world, nursing or otherwise. So, I awoke WAY before my alarm this morning and rolled begrudgingly out of bed, cursing my lack of academic focus back when I was 18. I made myself a large cup of Starbucks Via (which is actually pretty decent), and headed out the door to rectify my C+. Once I arrived on campus, everything went to hell in a handbag. Quickly.
I couldn't remember where the class was supposed to meet. I tried going to the administration office to look at a class schedule, but they didn't open until 8am. I tried finding the class on my phone, but as much as I LOVE my Palm, the web browser blows. Big time. I wandered aimlessly until the bookstore opened at 7:45 and I was able to figure out where the hell I was supposed to go. I hoofed it over to the portable classrooms, took a seat in the back and tried not to call too much attention to the fact that I was nearly twenty minutes late.
The professor sent us all an email on Saturday that included 29 pages of poetry to review before the first class today. TWENTY NINE pages of poetry. I can think of nothing I would like to read LESS that twenty nine pages of poetry (I will tackle my feelings on poetry in a different post). She also gave us a two page handout of literary terms to be discussed in class. While she was trying to come up with an example of alliteration in rap music, I foolishly raised my hand and offered my two cents, courtesy of Notorious BIG:
"Birthdays was the worst days
Now we sip chamgpagne when we thirstaaaaay"
As soon as I finished, the class became very quiet. Everyone looked at me like I had lobsters coming out of my nose. I turned about nine shades of red and immediately made a mental note to pipe down and not speak again. People began to snicker and the professor said, "We're all really excited about what you just said...on the inside." I've never felt so lame and embarrassed. Ugh.
Later in the class, though, the professor attempted to make up for it by using the Yin Yang Twins lyric "Like Short said, 'Let Bruce Bruce hit it'" as an example of allusion. I felt less lame, but only a little. I mean, at least I quoted a decent hip hop song so I had that going for me, but I still felt like a major idiot.
If today is any indication of how the rest of the summer is going to go, it's gonna be a loooooooong six weeks, ya'll. "Let Bruce Bruce hit it"....eff me.