Pointless College Stories 2, Episode 2: Comic Relief
I'm continuing with my Pointless College Stories Week tradition of two posts a day. I'm a bit busier now than I was this time last year, so I don't know if it'll hold up all week, but I have enough stories lined up for two posts a day.
This is a story that I had considered last year, but I held off, because toughngristly is central to the story, and at the time, she didn’t have an LJ. She does now, though, so I’m bringing this one out. Toughn and I were friends at PSU, when she was a grad student, and I was an undergrad. We were both writing tutors, so that gave us lots of common ground, and she’s always had an excellent sense of humor, so we hit it off well.
Even though I was an English major (at least from my junior year on), I still had to fulfill PSU’s “general education” requirements, which meant I had to take some kind of “breadth” Liberal Arts classes. For English majors, the obvious choice is Comparative Literature. If you’re not familiar, in a nutshell, English Literature is when you read stuff written in English; Comparative Literature is when you read translations of stuff originally written in other languages. As an amateur interested in world cultures, I actually liked Comp Lit quite a bit (I almost minored in it, but that’s another story), so I was quite happy to fill my requirements with Comp Lit classes.
One of the more popular Comp Lit classes for GenEd requirements was “Arthurian Legends,” which just happened to be taught by Toughn. I was keen to take it, but I realized the obvious conflict of interest in taking a class taught by a friend. We discussed it, and agreed that so long as I actually did the work (no worries, since I wanted to read the stuff anyway), it would be no problem. Or so I thought.
Oh, it went quite well for a while, a couple of months at least. I enjoyed the readings, and I thought the class discussions were pretty good, so I was participating quite a bit. Eventually, though, there came a day when I hadn’t done the assigned reading. I’d been busy at work, I’d been sick, I don’t know -- I just hadn’t done it. It happens. I couldn’t hide at the back of the lecture hall, as might have been my impulse, because I was accustomed to sitting in the middle of the room (next to mmaresca, actually, who was also taking the class, although I don’t think he’d met Toughn at that point), and she’d notice if I wasn’t there. So I took my usual seat, but slumped down, and when the conversation started, I did my best to convey “Don’t call on me!” with my body language. She’d get the message, I was sure. She’s smart, and she’s a friend.
Sure enough, the conversation stalled rather abruptly, and the next thing I know, Toughn's saying, “So, Word Geek, what do you think?” I temporized, and made up something completely off the top of my head, based on some vague memory of the reading and what everybody else had been saying up to that point. Evidently that kept things moving along well, and we made it to the end of the class. I felt compelled to confront Toughn afterwards, though, for the sin of calling me on the fact that I hadn’t done my homework.
“Look, I’m sorry; I didn’t do the reading last night. I just didn’t get to it.”
“Oh, I know; I could tell. It’s not a big deal.”
“But then...why did you call on me? If you knew I had nothing?”
“Because nobody else did the reading either, and I knew that whatever you’d make up on the spot would be better than what anyone else would.”
“Well that’s hardly...wait, huh?”
I pretty much figured I owed her that one. If I could take a class taught by a friend, she had the right to call on me, even if I wasn’t ready.
Of course, there was another time, when she wanted to give the class an idea of what medieval garb actually looked like, including armor. (Yes, I know that calling Arthur medieval isn’t precisely accurate, but the legends are all over the place, so it’s all good.) I’m sure both woodwindy and redshinma know what she did next -- call the SCA! Penn State evidently had a reasonably active SCA, although I’d never met them, and had in fact rolled my eyes at them whenever I saw them practicing on the lawn with their PVC swords. (As I was on my way to pick up my weekly comic books...good thing I never tripped from atop my moral high ground.) Toughn, though, evidently knew them well enough to invite them to class for a demo. They had a routine worked out in advance, which included putting chain mail on a volunteer from the class, to demonstrate its weight. Toughn snagged me a day before the class, and asked me to volunteer, if nobody else would. Being an avid fantasy reader, I already had a pretty good idea of what chain mail weighs, but what could I do, say no?
So when the day came around, the various SCAdians came and showed off their garb, and then Toughn asked for a volunteer to try on the chain mail. I think she must have waited a full half-second before calling me up to the front of the room. The guy assisting me with the mail (page? I dunno) was this huge, red-headed and -bearded guy whose character was evidently a Celt or a Viking of some sort, who didn’t speak English, because he only communicated with gestures and grunts. Wonderful. Fortunately, one of the other SCAdians was narrating to the class, so I was able to follow along a bit. The mute Celt dropped the mail on me, and I guess my knees didn’t buckle as he was expecting, so he clapped me on the shoulder to make sure they did. Then the narrator explained how the belt takes most of the weight, but only if you pull it...really...tight! Which is what the barbarian did at that point, eliciting the desired grunt from me.
After, they all agreed I was a great sport, and that Ragnar, or whoever, was impressed with my stoicism. Yay for me. I think they put on a swordfighting demonstration outside, but I missed most of it while I was getting disassembled. So the moral of the story is: You can take a class being taught by a friend, but you might end up in chain mail.
This is a story that I had considered last year, but I held off, because toughngristly is central to the story, and at the time, she didn’t have an LJ. She does now, though, so I’m bringing this one out. Toughn and I were friends at PSU, when she was a grad student, and I was an undergrad. We were both writing tutors, so that gave us lots of common ground, and she’s always had an excellent sense of humor, so we hit it off well.
Even though I was an English major (at least from my junior year on), I still had to fulfill PSU’s “general education” requirements, which meant I had to take some kind of “breadth” Liberal Arts classes. For English majors, the obvious choice is Comparative Literature. If you’re not familiar, in a nutshell, English Literature is when you read stuff written in English; Comparative Literature is when you read translations of stuff originally written in other languages. As an amateur interested in world cultures, I actually liked Comp Lit quite a bit (I almost minored in it, but that’s another story), so I was quite happy to fill my requirements with Comp Lit classes.
One of the more popular Comp Lit classes for GenEd requirements was “Arthurian Legends,” which just happened to be taught by Toughn. I was keen to take it, but I realized the obvious conflict of interest in taking a class taught by a friend. We discussed it, and agreed that so long as I actually did the work (no worries, since I wanted to read the stuff anyway), it would be no problem. Or so I thought.
Oh, it went quite well for a while, a couple of months at least. I enjoyed the readings, and I thought the class discussions were pretty good, so I was participating quite a bit. Eventually, though, there came a day when I hadn’t done the assigned reading. I’d been busy at work, I’d been sick, I don’t know -- I just hadn’t done it. It happens. I couldn’t hide at the back of the lecture hall, as might have been my impulse, because I was accustomed to sitting in the middle of the room (next to mmaresca, actually, who was also taking the class, although I don’t think he’d met Toughn at that point), and she’d notice if I wasn’t there. So I took my usual seat, but slumped down, and when the conversation started, I did my best to convey “Don’t call on me!” with my body language. She’d get the message, I was sure. She’s smart, and she’s a friend.
Sure enough, the conversation stalled rather abruptly, and the next thing I know, Toughn's saying, “So, Word Geek, what do you think?” I temporized, and made up something completely off the top of my head, based on some vague memory of the reading and what everybody else had been saying up to that point. Evidently that kept things moving along well, and we made it to the end of the class. I felt compelled to confront Toughn afterwards, though, for the sin of calling me on the fact that I hadn’t done my homework.
“Look, I’m sorry; I didn’t do the reading last night. I just didn’t get to it.”
“Oh, I know; I could tell. It’s not a big deal.”
“But then...why did you call on me? If you knew I had nothing?”
“Because nobody else did the reading either, and I knew that whatever you’d make up on the spot would be better than what anyone else would.”
“Well that’s hardly...wait, huh?”
I pretty much figured I owed her that one. If I could take a class taught by a friend, she had the right to call on me, even if I wasn’t ready.
Of course, there was another time, when she wanted to give the class an idea of what medieval garb actually looked like, including armor. (Yes, I know that calling Arthur medieval isn’t precisely accurate, but the legends are all over the place, so it’s all good.) I’m sure both woodwindy and redshinma know what she did next -- call the SCA! Penn State evidently had a reasonably active SCA, although I’d never met them, and had in fact rolled my eyes at them whenever I saw them practicing on the lawn with their PVC swords. (As I was on my way to pick up my weekly comic books...good thing I never tripped from atop my moral high ground.) Toughn, though, evidently knew them well enough to invite them to class for a demo. They had a routine worked out in advance, which included putting chain mail on a volunteer from the class, to demonstrate its weight. Toughn snagged me a day before the class, and asked me to volunteer, if nobody else would. Being an avid fantasy reader, I already had a pretty good idea of what chain mail weighs, but what could I do, say no?
So when the day came around, the various SCAdians came and showed off their garb, and then Toughn asked for a volunteer to try on the chain mail. I think she must have waited a full half-second before calling me up to the front of the room. The guy assisting me with the mail (page? I dunno) was this huge, red-headed and -bearded guy whose character was evidently a Celt or a Viking of some sort, who didn’t speak English, because he only communicated with gestures and grunts. Wonderful. Fortunately, one of the other SCAdians was narrating to the class, so I was able to follow along a bit. The mute Celt dropped the mail on me, and I guess my knees didn’t buckle as he was expecting, so he clapped me on the shoulder to make sure they did. Then the narrator explained how the belt takes most of the weight, but only if you pull it...really...tight! Which is what the barbarian did at that point, eliciting the desired grunt from me.
After, they all agreed I was a great sport, and that Ragnar, or whoever, was impressed with my stoicism. Yay for me. I think they put on a swordfighting demonstration outside, but I missed most of it while I was getting disassembled. So the moral of the story is: You can take a class being taught by a friend, but you might end up in chain mail.