Thursday, November 08, 2007
In which the CowardlyAcademe is forcibly reminded that people have real problems.
As opposed to, say, problems because they suck at subject-verb agreements or that their thesis isn't fully realized.
The CowardlyAcademe, frowning, scribbles a half-realized lesson plan on the blackboard. Student approaches.
CowardlyAcademe (having no idea who this is, continuing a scowl): 'Sup?
Student: I might have to leave class today.
CowardlyAcademe (eye contact is for the weak): Okay.
Student: And I might not participate that much.
CowardlyAcademe (is the original text really conjugated this poorly? Christ): Okay.
Student: Because my best friend died this weekend.
CowardlyAcademe (oh shit this requires personal involvement): Jesus, I'm sorry.
[Insert brief chat about said friend and expressed empathy, plus bizarre class period in which different Student has a nosebleed of epic proportions. The CowardlyAcademe briefly considers blaming the Gothic novel for the whole fiasco, then decides such a blame process would be too much effort.]
After class, the CowardlyAcademe investigates obituaries from Student's hometown. Not that the CowardlyAcademe disbelieves Student, but is instead overcome by morbid curiosity. Desired obituary is almost immediately found; friend, aged nineteen, has died in her sleep.
The hell? Wonders the CowardlyAcademe. Who dies in their sleep when they're nineteen? No cause of death is given, and the CowardlyAcademe continues to peruse the obit with an inquisitive eye. Ah, there it is.
Instead of flowers, the family requests that donations be given to the National Eating Disorders Association.
Oh.
Jesus.
Nineteen.
It looks like the CowardlyAcademe may have to make a donation this weekend.
Nineteen.
The CowardlyAcademe, frowning, scribbles a half-realized lesson plan on the blackboard. Student approaches.
CowardlyAcademe (having no idea who this is, continuing a scowl): 'Sup?
Student: I might have to leave class today.
CowardlyAcademe (eye contact is for the weak): Okay.
Student: And I might not participate that much.
CowardlyAcademe (is the original text really conjugated this poorly? Christ): Okay.
Student: Because my best friend died this weekend.
CowardlyAcademe (oh shit this requires personal involvement): Jesus, I'm sorry.
[Insert brief chat about said friend and expressed empathy, plus bizarre class period in which different Student has a nosebleed of epic proportions. The CowardlyAcademe briefly considers blaming the Gothic novel for the whole fiasco, then decides such a blame process would be too much effort.]
After class, the CowardlyAcademe investigates obituaries from Student's hometown. Not that the CowardlyAcademe disbelieves Student, but is instead overcome by morbid curiosity. Desired obituary is almost immediately found; friend, aged nineteen, has died in her sleep.
The hell? Wonders the CowardlyAcademe. Who dies in their sleep when they're nineteen? No cause of death is given, and the CowardlyAcademe continues to peruse the obit with an inquisitive eye. Ah, there it is.
Instead of flowers, the family requests that donations be given to the National Eating Disorders Association.
Oh.
Jesus.
Nineteen.
It looks like the CowardlyAcademe may have to make a donation this weekend.
Nineteen.
