Not Just A River In Egypt

I TA. I don't know if my theoretical editor who doesn't actually exist would approve of me using TA as a verb. But there it is. I do a lot of TA duties, so in my opinion, I TA. And I TA hard for one really difficult prof.

Professor Happycat.

In these past few months, I have witnessed this prof commit the following offenses. Consider it a kind of professorial rap sheet.

Refer to students in their class as "really good looking"
Suggest that because they are "really good looking" that they shouldn't be trying to "manipulate the disabilities centre" with a bogus diagnosis.
Dispute said "bogus diagnosis" in spite of a written Attending Physician's Statement
Refer to another TA as being a really good example of someone with a high IQ but a really low emotional IQ because they attended a conference to present a paper instead of coming to their class. IN FRONT OF AN ENTIRE LECUTRE HALL.
Lose the entire set of the class' midterms.
Blame this loss on a TA from another course, claiming that this TA must have taken them out of my mail cubby-hole. NB. My cubby couldn't be farther from this person's cubby and I have never even met them in person.
Upon being confronted about lying... denied and denied and denied until it became apparent that there was proof and that students were starting to complain about their behaviour.
Ask a TA to keep their bad behaviour between the two of them.
Throw up their hands and say it doesn't matter because they are resigning anyway.

Do I believe that they will resign?

That's a negatory, little buddy. This cat may not have any claws to speak of, but that was no purr neither. That was a low growl and I know to stay out of the way of a cornered kitty, regarless of their tenure status.

I've learned a little bit about bullying since the "unpleasantness" at the Org. I recognize someone tying to play a subordinate who has caught them with their metaphorical pants down. But this is the thing I just don't get. If you've been caught. If someone comes to you and says, "I have proof, I have 6 witnesses all willing to testify..." WHY oh WHY does the person just keep denying that they did it? And how on EARTH do they not learn from experience???

Seriously. There is a handful of students who heard you refer to another student by first and last name, mention a serious mental health diagnosis, and then say point-blank that they should not be accomodated in spite of a physician's note. And your response is that all the "beautiful people" are "ganging up on you?"

Tip #1, Buddy, seriously. STOP doing the harassing things that you are already accused of doing IF you want people to beleive that you never did them.

DEE-NI-AL. Even my cats know to bat their eyes, slick down their whiskers and look extra-cute when I catch sitting in next to a pile of poo on top of the coffee table. Or run.

The only thing that my naturally psychoanalytic little frontal lobe can come up with is that this prof WANTS to get fired. Who knows? Maybe they have a partner who is pressuring them to stay at a job they really hate? Maybe they can't pay the bills without the Sacajeweahs this gig brings in? But this is one prof who has been reusing the same exam and midterm since 2002 despite the class average consistently falling below 50%. This is not the behaviour of someone who wants to keep their job.

So how do you TA for someone like that?

You keep detailed notes and a sense of humour like a stoned teenager.

You do YOUR work. Which includes reporting inappropriate behaviour. You don't do THEIR work. And you attempt to professionally call them on blatent dumbassedness that will make your life harder if it goes unchecked.

And you insist that another TA that you have never met and whose last name couldn't be further from yours in the alphabetical listing of cubby holes did not root through your cubby and find an envelope with the same professor's name on it and take it without asking.

Oh, and drink. You should probably drink some alcohol...

The Interpretation of Grad Student Dreams

[Exterior. Morning. Psyche waits with her packpack by the side of the road. It's raining.]



[A car pulls up beside Psyche and she gets in, glad to be out of the rain.]



[Interior car. Psyche looks across at the wise and gentle face of her thesis supervisor, framed by granny glasses and soft white hair done up in a bun.]



Psyche: Good morning Dr. Supervisor! Thanks so much for picking me...



[Close up. Dr. Supervisor's hair falls out of the bun and loosens into a nest of maggoty snakes. Fires comes out of her eyesockets and melts part of her face and she turns towards Psyche.]



[The sound of the car doors locking can be heard with a thunderous echo.]



Dr. Supervisor: How dare you. I've had enough of your words and behaviour you stupid BITCH! Who do you think you are to say something like that about me to a prospective student?! I'm going to KI--



Psyche: (Calmly, without missing a beat.) It was no dare. I have every right to my opinion and to speak what I believe is the truth. We have a confidential process for prospective students to ask questions for a reason. I was polite and professional but honest. Why are you pumping the poor thing for confidential information anyway?



... and then I woke up.



... and alsmost peed my bed.



I'm having anxiety dreams about power stuggles, that's for sure. It doesn't take a narcissistic man with a cigar to tell you that the power dymanic in academic relationships is making me a *teensy* bit antsy these days. Hey, at least in the dream I was able to stand up for myself. In the goings on the led up to the dream (which is in no way a refection of literal reality), I was led to tears by something that could have been easily resolved with a few words months prior. Sigh... I would love to tell you about it all. But I am still slightly cognizant of the fact that no matter how anonymous one tries to be on the Internet, there is also a chance of having one's cover blown. If you know me, feel free to email and I'll go over it, but I've probably already made your ears bleed about it.



Yeah, it really amazes me how people in such authority, who actually STUDY things like authority and relationships and developmental processes and therapy, can be so totally blind to their own power dynamics. Or rather, perhaps, are VERY aware of them and play dumb. There should be a prep course in grad school entitled "How to deal with the bizzare and at times harrassingly illegal things that some prof is going to put you through in the next 7-10 years of your life: A primer on getting shit done while keeping the person you know as you alive." Maybe I'll propose one someday while I'm applying for tenure.



Okay okay okay... basically... there is a prof that I work with who makes VERY inappropriate comments during class, before class and after class. Things like, "Oh, Psyche, a student is going to approach you with a note from the disabilities centre regarding the midterm. Yeah, Mr. Firstname Lastname, you'll recognize him, he's REALLY GOOD LOOKING tall guy, really smart. He doesn't need to be accomodated for his MENTAL HEALTH ISSUE I'M SURE HE'D LIKE TO KEEP PRIVATE. He can write the exam with everyone else, so don't accomodate him. That's what these *disabilities* people do. They're just kids working in that office, they have no idea, and he's just manipulating them to get extra time." Yeah, this prof says stuff like that in full earshot of other students. Also, if a student comes in late, he stops the lecture and says that this is an excellent example of a person with a high IQ but "very low emotional intelligence." Oy. Don't even get me started on the inappropriate comments he made in class about Isreal and Hamas. If I were to write them down, your brain would cry.



I have another prof who teaches a course for which there is a dire necessity to use powerpoint/projector, blackboard... He mumbles, talks fast and we can't see a bloody thing on the very complicated and ephemeral slides (he's a bit clicker happy), so taking notes without a printout is impossible. You would have to have the arm of The Flash, the eyes of Superman, a pen from the BatBelt, and Stephen Hawking's brian in a jar to do so successfully. He posts the slides for us on his course website. Trouble is... he changes the bloody things an hour before the class. Sometimes minutes before the class he adds whole sections and topics, charts and diagrams, designs a whole new system! When we ask him to slow down because we are lost, he says, "What's the matter? You HAVE the slides!" We say, "not these ones."



A power struggle ensues over us wanting him to update the slides the night before so we can't print them out OR slow the f*ck down so that we can take notes. He is stubborn to Obsessive-compuslive standards. He can't slow down cause there isn't time (doensn't matter if we don't learn anything) and refuses to update on the night before because he has "time pressures."



Uh, dude? You've taught this class, like FIVE times already. This is the first time ANY of us have taken it. Pull yourself together, man!



Keep in mind, I'm just giving you the highlights, okay?

The Strike Is Long Over, And Yet...

OMG... this semester is just turning my into a foulmouthed lout, the type of which would make a horney sailor played by Eddie Murphy blush. I've always been a bit of a swearer, but it wasn't until recently that I realized just how much I swear.
Basically, I live in an appartment and my bedroom and living room windows overlook the entrance to the building. The very BUSY and LOUD entrance to my building. Since I have moved to this neighbourhood, I have had to leave the comfort of my toasty beddy-bye on about 5 occaissions in order to go downstairs and ask someone doing a Night At The Roxbury impression to turn the base in their car stereo down at 2 AM.

ON A WEEKNIGHT.

I don't get out of the bed on a weekend. Too scary. Wanna know why? Because when you do that, you see that the person in question is doing something like masturbating while waiting for their date, or is just openly drinking in the car and then you have to take the liscence plate and call the police and avoid the pointy racial/sexist epithets being hurled at you. Epithets if you're lucky.

When we put in the air conditioner, this problem will by and large disappear and I will sleep once more. But, with the coming spring weather, a new loudmouth problem has emerged: 7 and 8 year olds who use the F-word more than a faultering Yuk Yuks MC.

At first I thought, who is the effeminate and verbally abusive dad yelling at children as a they come off of the school bus? But upon further inspection, I realized that there was no dad out there. No dad, no mom, no auntie Sveta or uncle Uri. But there was a horde of unsupervised urchins on the front lawn and patio, cursing the sh*t out of one another. I heard variations on the F-bomb that George Carlin hadn't even thought of. Through the mirale of hyphenation, these kids proved to me that there are now 47 words you can't say on television. Although, apparently, it is okay to scream them at the top of their lungs into my home office during business hours.

Jeeeeeezz.

Yeah, so this has been going on EVERY school day from the time the bus arrives, around 3:30, until the sun goes down - weather permitting. And we're less than one block to a giant park. AND there is a sign in the front of the building prohibiting children from playing on the patio. (But it's not in Russian, so...?) So, one day, I go out onto the balcony and say something like, "Hey guys! Do you think you could watch the language? I don't have a problem with you playin out here, be as loud as you like. But I'm getting tired of hearing the F-word every three seconds." And they stop. And just stare at me up on the 4th floor. Like I am some sort of abomination. Like a cat that grew wings and started whistling atonally. Or a baby who started projectile vomiting the host in mass. About 20 seconds go by. No one moves. No one speaks. I'm thinking, shouldn't they be cussing me out? "Guys? Do you think you could stop yelling swear words out here? I'd appreciate it." They don't say yes or no. One kid (the leader?) does a head bobble that I need a bunch of trained behaviourist observers with high inter-rater reliablity to tell me if it is a nod or a shake. They go back to playing. I go back inside.

I JUST sit down.... "F**************************CK SAM!!! YOU'RE SUCH A F*************CKING FAT *SS!"

Clearly I need to find out who the mothers are of these little Artful Dodgers and find a way to appeal to, and failing that, punish her for this. Why? Well, upon consulting the draft that I was working on, I found that it had a few f*cks and fat-*sses in it -- you know like when someone is talking while you write and you end up writing down snippets of what they said in your output?

Note to self: proof read EVERYTHING written between 3:30 and sundown TWICE.