Unproductive Chloe
This is post 17 of Section II. To begin at the beginning, go here. Section II begins here.
Gently Gregory pulled the curtain of reddish brown hair back from her face and kissed another tear as it fell. Chloe did not resist. “Chloe, honey, I told you before. It’s a business, pure and simple. That means, it’s a game. Like a computer game. All you have to do is figure out the rules and click the mouse the right way. And relax, for God’s sake.”
She turned and looked into his eyes. “You really think so?”
He held her gaze and ran a finger delicately along her jaw. “Look. The university needs to process as many students as possible without hiring extra staff. If you teach hard, and students drop or fail, you create a bottleneck in the system; you’re unproductive. Also, the students don’t like you. So what’s the solution? Come on, Chloe, you’re intelligent.”
Chloe hated when people called her smart. It reminded her of that thing her maternal grandfather used to always say: “If you’re so smart, why don’t you make more money?” Maybe that was why she’d never had a chance to get to know her mother’s family that well.
She took a deep breath and tried one more time to explain. “But then they won’t learn anything. I don’t want them to hate me, or hate reading, but how can they like reading if they’re not doing it?” She was crying harder.
Gregory massaged her shoulders. “Chloe—Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. Whoa. Slow down. You’re so tense.”
Maybe because people keep treating me like a horse, Chloe thought, remembering her boss’ clicking noises.
Continue
Gently Gregory pulled the curtain of reddish brown hair back from her face and kissed another tear as it fell. Chloe did not resist. “Chloe, honey, I told you before. It’s a business, pure and simple. That means, it’s a game. Like a computer game. All you have to do is figure out the rules and click the mouse the right way. And relax, for God’s sake.”
She turned and looked into his eyes. “You really think so?”
He held her gaze and ran a finger delicately along her jaw. “Look. The university needs to process as many students as possible without hiring extra staff. If you teach hard, and students drop or fail, you create a bottleneck in the system; you’re unproductive. Also, the students don’t like you. So what’s the solution? Come on, Chloe, you’re intelligent.”
Chloe hated when people called her smart. It reminded her of that thing her maternal grandfather used to always say: “If you’re so smart, why don’t you make more money?” Maybe that was why she’d never had a chance to get to know her mother’s family that well.
She took a deep breath and tried one more time to explain. “But then they won’t learn anything. I don’t want them to hate me, or hate reading, but how can they like reading if they’re not doing it?” She was crying harder.
Gregory massaged her shoulders. “Chloe—Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. Whoa. Slow down. You’re so tense.”
Maybe because people keep treating me like a horse, Chloe thought, remembering her boss’ clicking noises.
Continue
posted by Hobbes at 8:12 PM
5 Comments:
I was thinking of something very similar to that a while back. My brother-in-law who became a millionaire was that way in respects to learning the rules and pressing the right buttons without conscience as if playing a computer game. That seems to be the roadmap to success in this country. If you have a conscience or sense of justice then Minnie Strator will push the buttons on you without conscience.
Thanks for the moral support, T&I. I am thankful to be out of Minnie's reach, although s/he can still get to me through Dr. Weirsdo.
I really did sympathisize with College professors when I was in school. I still wonder why they do any teaching since there didn't seem to be any benefit. I remember when one of my econ professors was passed over for tenure. I had a conflict with the final and took his early in his office. Afterwards he brought me a beer and asked me why I thought my classmates seemed to work so much harder to avoid studying than they would have worked to study. Something I remember with a grin from that conversation was when he said "These students seem to think that because I'm leaving I won't bother grading the tests. Because I'm leaving the streets will run red." Then he got a job with the Federal Reserve Bank. Sure am glad I did my homework. He could ruin me.
You told me that story in an e-mail, I think. I'm glad he got a job at the Fed.
Let me tell you another story:
Once upon a time, long, long ago, it was pleasant to be a professor. Not much money, but congenial colleagues who knew how to make a good martini, plenty of free time, sabbaticals, and perks like tuition waivers for your kids--even at other colleges. You were in charge of your classroom, and you, your colleagues, and your students all expected that the workload would be heavy in order to prepare them for their roles in life. You were a nationally respected figure, a guardian and purveyor of high culture. You lived in a pleasant community with decent schools. Unless you f**ed up your marriage and family, there wasn't much to complain about.
Then came the Vietnam War, hippies, drugs, affirmative action, women's lib (forsooth), multiculturalism, and budget trimming, and with this and that and the other, it all went to hell in a hand-basket. On top of that you DID f--k up your marriages, and your kids were troubled underachievers.
Anyway, that's the story of the American college professor from the perspective of Bennett, or Dad. I think there's a fair amount of truth there.
Hmmm, I wondered when you were going to mention the above factors- rahter like molten lava tumbling forth in a powerful surge of swirling un-glue...
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