My classmates created this facebook group called the SJSU Teaching Cohort, which is basically a forum for people to share ideas, ask questions, and discuss about the latest issues and trends in education. It’s a way for us to stay informed and grow together as teachers.
“Who wants to get happy hour tomorrow before class starts?”
The only post so far to pique my interest, I instantly replied: “I love happy!”
“Let’s meet up in front of Sweeney around 3.”
I was looking forward to this little get together before my multicultural class, a class that doesn’t require me to remain sober. It is painstakingly boring and offensive. Each day, the instructor, in her trying efforts, instills in us this idea that all White people are racist, whether they believe or not (confusingly enough, the instructor is White). ”That’s not fair!” cried a White classmate. ”See, now you’re empathizing with minorities,” replied the White instructor. And they continue to argue back in forth, as I sat there, watching and listening with the rest of the class who not seeming to realize that I was the only minority in the classroom. The appropriate thing to do is to say something only a minority could say and get everyone to calm the fuck down. That would be the appropriate thing. However, there was still 2 hours left, and I needed something to get me through the day.
Happy hour came soon enough, and I waited for the gang to arrive in front of the deteriorating building where we all agreed to meet, the building I’m going to have my class in. Well, it turns out no one was as enthusiastic about happy hour as me and the guy who suggested it were. He was the only one that came, and after acknowledging each other’s presence, we gave each other a half-assed shrug. Not even a full shrug, which by itself, is already a half-assed response. The laziness was impeccable on each of our part. The future of students’ education.
We trekked across campus to a nearby bar, ordered our drinks, and shot the shit. Well, he talked mostly while I just sat there listening. One thing I noticed about most teachers-to-be is their love for talking and hearing themselves talk. They can talk for hours and hours, stretching a mundane topic to an unnecessary length of time. ”And I said, well I didn’t know there was difference between the toothpastes.” I was listening in on a conversation one time between two teachers, and I swear, if you piece the snippets of conversation together, it’ll be two long monologues with nothing in common, except maybe a child named Ernie. Not that I really mind these conversations, so long as they are amusing. But this one wasn’t, and I was too polite in my current state to interrupt.
After the monologue, we got up and left. It was 4 o’clock, and class has already started. Fuck it. I decided to just take my time and arrive 10 minutes late. I sneaked in the back as the teacher wrote something on the chalkboard. 4:15. Three hours and 15 minutes to go. ”Who can tell me what we talked about last week?” Not in the mood to answer, I dazed out and stared at the person’s head in front me, wondering what it would be like to lecture for one hour straight. And after a while, even that became a drag.
