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[wowing a hard-to-please professor]
The year was 1996. The venue was a small town, home to Small Town University (STU). I had a wife and a new daughter.
I had been graduated from high school in May 1970 and, over the years, accumulated various college credits. I discovered that I was 18 hours shy of a Baccalaureate of Applied Arts & Sciences, so I went for it.
One of our friends was the wife of a political science professor who was known to be the most demanding professor in the department. I have always relished a challenge, so I determined to take a class under him.
Dr. Squatty-Body (as I shall call him) stood about 165 cm short, bearded, and with the same scowl you might see on a leprechaun if you stole his gold and then yanked his beard. Add his high-pitched, sharp-toned voice, his own grading system (not letters, not percentages, and not the customary four-point) and general demeanor of “Just try to pass this class! Just try!”, factor in my vast lack of self-confidence, and you can see that the semester was going to be a walk in the park – specifically, NYC Central Park at 3 a.m.!
The class met three days each week, and Dr. Squatty-Body would treat us each day to one of his shrill lectures. Each Friday he would assign a paper. Each Monday we would turn in our papers. Each Wednesday he would pair us off to critique each other’s papers. Each Friday he would hand our papers back, all marked up, and assign another paper.
I resolved to do my best. I might pass, or I might fail miserably, but I figured I would be the better for having had the experience. Each Friday I awaited my returned paper with fear and trembling. Each Friday I received a paper with a Squatty-body grade that equaled an A, and another assignment to agonize over.
After the third paper, I approached him. “Dr. Squatty-Body,” I began ..
“Yes, what do you want?” he snapped.
“On the first paper, I got (grade) …”
“That was an A,” he scowled.
“And on the second paper, I got (grade) …”
“That was another A!”
“And then today ...”
“You got a third A. What is your point?” he demanded.
“If I keep performing at this rate, do I have a reasonable expectation of passing this class?”
He looked at me as a stepmother might regard a grimy stepchild. “Yes, you just might pass this class” he finally said.
As I left his presence, I could feel him staring daggers into my back.
Came the end of the semester. We wrote our finals during Dead Week and I received an A in the course. One fine Saturday I was graduated in full and ample form, and I saw Mrs. Squatty-Body at church the next day.
“Not only did I pass Dr. Squatty-Body’s class,” I informed her, “I got an A!”
She grinned. “I remember the day the class turned in their first paper. He came home that afternoon waving your paper and saying ‘This guy can WRITE!’”
“Gee, I wish I’d known that,” I remarked.
“Well, I told your wife the very next day,” she said. “I wonder why she didn’t tell you.”
“I wonder the same.”
On the way home, I related the conversation I had had that morning. My wife confirmed everything Mrs. Squatty-Body had said.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Here I am sweating bullets all semester and now I learn that I practically had a A in the bag!”
She smiled. “I know you work better under pressure. I figured if I told you, you might slack off and end up with a B or a C.”
(She was right.)
[egregious grammatical errors]
What about pronoun-antecedent disagreement?
The teacher issues a memo: "Every student must bring their book to class."
What he wants is students to books in a one-to-one correspondence (each student armed with a textbook).
What he has requested is a roomful of students and one communal book.
He has a doctorate, yet he writes as if his years of education were expressible as a single digit.
[more egregious errors]
How many times have I been told that a shop is open for three hours of a Saturday, and the posted hours are "Saturday 9 a.m. -- 12 p.m."?
That's fifteen hours!
How often have I pointed out the error and been laughed to scorn?
Even when I handed the shopkeeper the following, no good was done:
12:00 p.m. is not noon.
The abbreviations a.m. and p.m. stand for the Latin phrases ante meridiem (before noon) and post meridiem (after noon). (The Latin word for noon, meridies, changes to meridiem when used with the prepositions ante and post.)
In English, we would represent noon and its adjacent times as follows:
11:59 before noon
12:00 noon
12:01 after noon
Substituting Latin for the English phrases gives us:
11:59 ante meridiem
12:00 meridies
12:01 post meridiem
Abbreviate the Latin phrases, and we have:
11:59 a.m.
12:00 m.
12:01 p.m.
Noon, therefore, is properly expressed as 12:00 m.
[more egregious errors]
How often have I heard the phrase "PIN number?""
How often have I pointed out:
The abbreviation PIN means personal identification number.
To say PIN number is to say personal identification number number -- which phrase has no meaning.
How much good has it done?
The year was 1996. The venue was a small town, home to Small Town University (STU). I had a wife and a new daughter.
I had been graduated from high school in May 1970 and, over the years, accumulated various college credits. I discovered that I was 18 hours shy of a Baccalaureate of Applied Arts & Sciences, so I went for it.
One of our friends was the wife of a political science professor who was known to be the most demanding professor in the department. I have always relished a challenge, so I determined to take a class under him.
Dr. Squatty-Body (as I shall call him) stood about 165 cm short, bearded, and with the same scowl you might see on a leprechaun if you stole his gold and then yanked his beard. Add his high-pitched, sharp-toned voice, his own grading system (not letters, not percentages, and not the customary four-point) and general demeanor of “Just try to pass this class! Just try!”, factor in my vast lack of self-confidence, and you can see that the semester was going to be a walk in the park – specifically, NYC Central Park at 3 a.m.!
The class met three days each week, and Dr. Squatty-Body would treat us each day to one of his shrill lectures. Each Friday he would assign a paper. Each Monday we would turn in our papers. Each Wednesday he would pair us off to critique each other’s papers. Each Friday he would hand our papers back, all marked up, and assign another paper.
I resolved to do my best. I might pass, or I might fail miserably, but I figured I would be the better for having had the experience. Each Friday I awaited my returned paper with fear and trembling. Each Friday I received a paper with a Squatty-body grade that equaled an A, and another assignment to agonize over.
After the third paper, I approached him. “Dr. Squatty-Body,” I began ..
“Yes, what do you want?” he snapped.
“On the first paper, I got (grade) …”
“That was an A,” he scowled.
“And on the second paper, I got (grade) …”
“That was another A!”
“And then today ...”
“You got a third A. What is your point?” he demanded.
“If I keep performing at this rate, do I have a reasonable expectation of passing this class?”
He looked at me as a stepmother might regard a grimy stepchild. “Yes, you just might pass this class” he finally said.
As I left his presence, I could feel him staring daggers into my back.
Came the end of the semester. We wrote our finals during Dead Week and I received an A in the course. One fine Saturday I was graduated in full and ample form, and I saw Mrs. Squatty-Body at church the next day.
“Not only did I pass Dr. Squatty-Body’s class,” I informed her, “I got an A!”
She grinned. “I remember the day the class turned in their first paper. He came home that afternoon waving your paper and saying ‘This guy can WRITE!’”
“Gee, I wish I’d known that,” I remarked.
“Well, I told your wife the very next day,” she said. “I wonder why she didn’t tell you.”
“I wonder the same.”
On the way home, I related the conversation I had had that morning. My wife confirmed everything Mrs. Squatty-Body had said.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked. “Here I am sweating bullets all semester and now I learn that I practically had a A in the bag!”
She smiled. “I know you work better under pressure. I figured if I told you, you might slack off and end up with a B or a C.”
(She was right.)
[egregious grammatical errors]
What about pronoun-antecedent disagreement?
The teacher issues a memo: "Every student must bring their book to class."
What he wants is students to books in a one-to-one correspondence (each student armed with a textbook).
What he has requested is a roomful of students and one communal book.
He has a doctorate, yet he writes as if his years of education were expressible as a single digit.
[more egregious errors]
How many times have I been told that a shop is open for three hours of a Saturday, and the posted hours are "Saturday 9 a.m. -- 12 p.m."?
That's fifteen hours!
How often have I pointed out the error and been laughed to scorn?
Even when I handed the shopkeeper the following, no good was done:
12:00 p.m. is not noon.
The abbreviations a.m. and p.m. stand for the Latin phrases ante meridiem (before noon) and post meridiem (after noon). (The Latin word for noon, meridies, changes to meridiem when used with the prepositions ante and post.)
In English, we would represent noon and its adjacent times as follows:
11:59 before noon
12:00 noon
12:01 after noon
Substituting Latin for the English phrases gives us:
11:59 ante meridiem
12:00 meridies
12:01 post meridiem
Abbreviate the Latin phrases, and we have:
11:59 a.m.
12:00 m.
12:01 p.m.
Noon, therefore, is properly expressed as 12:00 m.
[more egregious errors]
How often have I heard the phrase "PIN number?""
How often have I pointed out:
The abbreviation PIN means personal identification number.
To say PIN number is to say personal identification number number -- which phrase has no meaning.
How much good has it done?
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