Dumb just hasn’t gotten it, so before I send him into the virtual airlock for good, I had to share this with the rest of you while sending one more shout out to the genius that is Josh Dumb.

Here is a peek at one of several similar comments I blocked:

“ok shawn..why don’t you email me then..its in the form… since you dont want my freedom of speech on here to be displayed then email me big man”

Uh, Dumb, if you’re still out there, I’ve decided to make you a deal. Aside from the obvious errors in grammar, punctuation, and sentence structure, if you can find either of the two glaringly idiotic mistakes you’ve made here and indicate them in a comment to this post, I’ll invite you back. (I suggest you keep the comment short and sweet so as not to taint it with the confusing language you seem to prefer.)

I’ll even go a step farther: if, after thinking carefully about this, you can’t figure it out, Dumb, just scroll down. (I’ve provided partial answers for you.)

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Hint #1:

“. . .my freedom of speech on here. . .”
“. . .email me big man. . .”

Are you still confused? Oh, all right: scroll down more.

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Hint #2:
If you didn’t get it from the first hint, you’re never going to get it, Dumb.

And by the way, my little spy-timer shows me you scrolled down to get the hints before you even thought about the errors in what you’d written. CHEATER.

. . .you can be as evil as you wish because I have favor with God. I can make it with out the belief of others. See you in class Wednesday and also…. thanks for nothing!

As happy as I am to be rid of that problem, I am not at all impressed by the way in which things transpired.

Simply disrupting a class over two consecutive periods and then sending a threatening e-mail are not sufficient grounds to send a student packing, nor does anyone on my campus think the student needs counseling—in fact, my suggesting such was met with warnings from very well-meaning people that “[I’d] be going down a dangerous road” for suggesting such a thing.

Remember, this student is a grown adult who had been verbally aggressive and abusive in class, and who has military training.

While I don’t want to blow things out of proportion here, can anyone say Virginia Tech? The irony of events such as those at VT is that no one claims to have seen the thing coming until it was all over. During the same week that lots of fingers were being pointed at instructors and administrators at VT, I was telling the people at Sacramento City College I had a volatile student in class, and all I heard was a warning of how to act so as not to have the student complain about me.

At one point, the discussion turned to whether or not other students in the class would report this student’s behavior as disruptive. (Unfortunately, I’d left my crystal ball at home that morning, and I had forgotten my word wasn’t sufficient.)

This student called me EVIL.

This student implied I HAVE NO FAVOR WITH GOD.

The subject line of the e-mail read “Thanks for nothing. . . BITCH.

Yes, I can see where I might have difficulty explaining my reasons for feeling threatened by this student’s behavior.

The student is someone else’s problem now: arrangements were made to move the student out of my class and into someone else’s.

The message: treat your instructor as the pile of shit you think she is, and if the instructor expects something different, we’ll take care of you.

I love beginning a semester in chaos.

Now, switching rooms makes finding a shady parking space right next to the building look like child’s play—getting it done is like winning the World Series of Poker, say, five times in a row.

I had been dealt some very good cards, however: first, the room holds only 22 and the class cap is 28. Second, there is a mandatory grammar and punctuation component, and the room has no chalkboard. Third, there is absolutely no desk space, and note-taking at the level I am teaching in that class is paramount.

The process was begun, and my dean is reliable, so I felt certain I’d get a change, but the inevitability of time—as in it’ll take time to find a room or switch a room, so you’re stuck there for now—was unavoidable.

I walked back upstairs slowly: I had about one minute to reorganize my day’s plans in my head, and while reorganizing, I had to consider the distinct possibility I’d be stuck in that room for a week or two—all of which made my plans very confused: I needed a chalkboard.

Not surprisingly, every single seated student was busily surfing the internet, chatting, and/or gaming by the time I returned. After asking everyone to shut down his or her machine, I climbed over and around bodies to shut down the machines of those to whom “please power off the computer in front of you” meant nothing.

Returning to the front of the room, I spread the word that a location change was in the works, and then I went about the task of getting rid of fifteen bodies: those who were not enrolled and/or who were not in the top five on the waiting list.

While this trimming of students came with many of the routine pleads to “let me stay: I really need this class,” I was spared the “why do I have to leave? There are plenty of empty seats in the room” remarks.

By 12:30—in a class that began at 12:00—I had settled the 33 students (the cap plus five) and begun reviewing the course syllabus and assignment sheet. I was unable to begin the overview of writing I use on the first day because I feared writing on the freshly painted wall behind me might be frowned upon by someone somewhere, and orally, the information simply isn’t worthwhile.

I figured I’d give it another session, and if I didn’t have a new room by then, I’d insist on a purchase order for a sandwich board and a commercial roll of butcher paper. If I were refused, I was simply going to write on the walls in dry erase markers—really.

Fortunately, by the end of the day, I had been reassigned to a new room—in the Business Building. (Think getting soaked in rainstorms. Think loads of papers and journals causing shoulder injury. Think a room too far from my office to run back to should I forget something. Oh well.)

I’ve taught in several rooms over in business, and they apparently have more money than the English Department. Their rooms are nicer, larger, and decked out with great desks and really big, long white boards.

When Wednesday dawned, I wondered just how lucky I’d get with parking: it was going to be another hot day in the state capitol, and as much as I hoped for shade, what I really wanted was close. (Yeah, right—like that was going to happen again.)

But it did: I didn’t score shade, but I scored close to my building—again. The rest of the morning was just as uneventful as Monday had been, and other than needing a key I didn’t yet have to get into my new room, all was bliss.

(The key story will need to wait, but it’ll be worth it, I promise you.)

The room to which my class was reassigned was new to me, and when I walked in, it was a bit like entering a mansion.

I can get rained on for this, folks.

I began taking care of the administrative things that bog down the first few days of class beginning with sending away new arrivals and those who were in the wrong place. That taken care of, I checked prerequisites while my students completed a little writing assignment.

One student—who I think will provide a positive dose of levity to the course—gasped when I ask they take out paper and write.

“Now? Already? But we haven’t learned anything yet!”

Before I needed to point out to her that writing was something she’d been doing for a few years, she caught herself and began to giggle. The giggle was infectious, and we all laughed.

Several minutes later, I stopped the writing and began returning eligibility forms: I reinforce names and faces by passing things back to students, and while returning forms, I realized that although I had excused those who hadn’t been present on the first day because the class was full, I still had a new face in the crowd.

Generally, I recognize faces after the first day, but on occasion, I’ve mistaken a “new” face for one that simply didn’t stick, so here’s what transpired:

“Excuse me, you in the checkered shirt.”
“Who, me?”
“Yes. Did I call your name this morning?”
“No.”
“Well, as I said earlier, I don’t have any room to add anyone in this class. I’m sorry.”
“Oh, that’s okay. I’m not trying to get into the class.”
“Okay, well, I’m going to need you to pack up your things and leave.”
“Why?”

There it was: my first moment of the semester during which I have no idea what to say or do. I begin to get pissed off, and my students start staring at this guy and rolling their eyes. I breathed and thought and recovered.

“Why do you need to leave? Well, oddly enough, because you’re not part of this class. Beyond that fact, you need to leave because I asked you to.”
“But I don’t want to.”
“Look, I’m not going to ask you again. Gather your things and get out of here, and do it now.”

I begin to lament leaving my cell phone in my office, as I feared I would soon need to get the campus police involved. Goodie.

“But it’s really hot out there, and it’s nice and cool in here.”
“I think you’ll find the library has a similar environment, but if you don’t get out of my classroom right now, I’ll make sure campus police helps you.”
“Seriously?”

I have two returning students in this class, so I ask one of them to go around the corner to alert the Business Department Dean to call the campus police. She gets up and leaves.

“So, you’re serious? I can’t just sit here?”

I’m not going to engage him anymore, so I look at the remaining students and shrug my shoulders.

“Sorry guys, it looks like we’re going to have to wait for the cops to drag this guy out of here before we can get on with class. I’d like all of you to look at him, wave, and say ‘thanks’.”

My students love that we are a team, and to a person they turn, wave, and ‘thank’ him. Some of the ‘thank you’s’ come out sounding a bit like other things, but what can I say?

“Whatever. I’m out of here.”

Our visitor gathers his things while muttering under his breath and then walks out. As he opens the door to leave, standing right in front of him are two campus police officers—who says there’s never a cop around when one is needed?

After air-conditioning boy mutters a shit under his breath, the campus police officers take him aside and away. (My student was standing with them and did the ‘that’s him’ thing.)

I was trying to think of the best way to get things back to normal when the writing-phobic student from earlier blurts out sarcastically,

“Dang—he got to sit here and didn’t even have to write.”

The grin was still spreading across her face when another student remarked,

“Seriously.”

We all cracked up, and for the remainder of the period seriously was the mantra.

This group has real potential: I seriously hope I can keep up.

Each of these items separately is something akin to winning the lottery, and I scored on both counts. (Did I mention the predicted high for the day was 104°F?)

The next phase was photocopying a few things I needed, and that, too, went without incident.

I settled in, ate a bit, reorganized things, and found even after grading a large stack of assessment essays, I had time to do a bit of non-teaching related work.

When the noontime hour approached, I gathered my things and headed upstairs to my first classroom—that’s right, this semester my classes were scheduled for rooms in the English Department building! (Think rainstorms without getting soaked. Think loads of papers and journals without shoulder injury. Think rooms close enough to run back to my office should I forget something.)

I’ve taught in room RS-311 several times, and I know it’s a decent location—decent meaning sufficient seats for the class cap (28) and a chalkboard of reasonable size—so I was taken completely aback when I walked into a room transformed into a 22-seat computer lab with long tables where once desks had ruled and absolutely no chalkboard.

Of course, when I walked in, all I was immediately aware of was the 50+ bodies packed in the room like sardines, but once I gulped my share of the diminishing oxygen, the transformation hit me.

So much for the shine of day one.

- Read Part Two -

California has a budget—that makes things a bit easier, but the shuffle, bustle, and confusion of the first and second class meetings are always a challenge.

This semester, we’ve changed to a sixteen-week schedule—down from eighteen weeks in the past. In addition, most classes meet only twice each week. (Until this change, classes were traditionally M-W-F or Tu-Th.)

The sixteen weeks, two-days-per-week schedule is supposed to be a better fit all around: students prefer two-days-per-week classes (as do many instructors), and as impacted as the district is, more classes can now be crammed into the same amount of space.

Fridays are now free to hold one-day-per week classes, and like Saturday courses, these are very popular with working adults—not educationally beneficial in most cases, but popular.

The fewer weeks and days also means class meetings have been extended. Previously, M-W-F courses were 50 minutes in length, and Tu-Th classes were 75 minutes in length. Now, courses are 80 minutes long.

As a teacher, I love this: 50 minutes is far too short to do much good. By the time one takes roll, 5 minutes are gone; wrapping up is another 5 minutes, and that leaves only 40 minutes of class time. It’s tough to cover two things well in that amount of time: especially if one of the things is a reading discussion, but it’s a bit too long to use for just one thing. 75 minutes is better: once the 10 minutes of fluff are excised, it leaves just over an hour of class time.

80 minutes means I have those brains for an hour and ten minutes of scholarship: wow—now that is teaching time.

Of course, one of the things I’ve begun to notice when teaching the 75 minute classes is the issue of failing attention spans: students simply can’t sit still and/or focus for more than about 30 minutes of time. Now, I have to figure out a way to get them to stay with me for longer than ever.

I use all of the teaching tricks: breaking things into smaller units of activity, participation versus lecture, calling on people, etc. These are Band-Aids: the clock watching will inevitably begin after the first 20 minutes has passed, and in most modern classrooms (on my campus, anyway), the clocks almost always face the students not the teachers.

If only I were a hottie.