You may find it hard to imagine what I look like.
After all, I am The Anonymous Titan. You may only think of a faceless student sitting in front of a blank computer, tapping away on his or her keyboard. Perhaps there is a massive stuffed elephant in the background. The black curtains are drawn over the small window, the room is obscured in darkness, and the only furniture consists of a closed door, a fold-up chair (upon which the faceless student is sitting), and a wooden table. The only remaining light is from the bluish, glowing computer screen.
You may continue to think that.
But add a black top hat. I have always been partial to top hats.
Now, you are most likely wondering why I have posted again.
There are several reasons, none of them entirely relevant, and a few untrue. I will list them for your curious eyes.
1. I have grown bored once more, as my aforementioned summer job has not yet materialized.
2. I understand that my readers need me. Without me, you are lost in a pool of depression, sinking slowly into the black, dreary water. Where, you wonder, is The Anonymous Titan when you need him/her?
3. I am pining for attention. (This, you may note, is one of the entirely untrue reasons. Why would I need attention?)
4. You, my devoted reader, are curious. And therefore, I post again.
5. I feel as though the time is ripe. Ripe, as in a slowly yellowing banana. Ripe, as in sweet and ready for the taking. The time is ripe, I say!
6. Blogging becomes me. And to this, I say, clearly.
Onward we march. Today I shall speak (write, inform, etc.) about professors.
Professors, as many of us know, are not like teachers. Teachers, (whom are devoted to the grades of Kindergarten to 12th) fall into a different section of Those Who Teach.
Professors are highly individualistic, in their teaching manners, their style, their standing positions (by which I mean where they stand in the classroom, and how), and their ideals.
Last semester, I had a Geology professor.
We shall call him Mr. Geology to preserve his personal identity.
Mr. Geology was jovial and interactive. He knew his students by name, he didn't need to call roll out loud, only scanned the rows and jotted it down, and his classes were loud, interesting, and occasionally dramatic.
During the last weeks of class, a girl in the front row raised her hand. I knew her (but by appearance only) and anticipated what she was going to say. Probably she was about to ask if we could have extra credit. It was a common question in this class, but I really had no idea why.
"Mr. Geology," she asked, "why don't we have another Test before the final?"
Way back in the last row, my blood temperature dropped to negative three. Oh dear, I thought, another Test. We've already had three.
"How come?" Mr. Geology asked. He grinned benevolently at the class. "Who else would like another Test?"
Arghhhh, I thought. Nooooo! Don't put the question to the class! Alas! We are all doomed!
Luckily, no one moved. There was the ominous sound of grumbling from the left portion of the back row. (It was not I, in case you are concerned.)
The girl chimed in again. "We could write our own questions! Don't you think so, Mr. Geology?"
Mr. Geology looked round again, beaming. I dropped my head into my hands as several people also began to speak.
"I think that would be a good idea-"
"-And then we could pick how many questions we wanted!"
"Don't you think it's a good idea?"
"Please, Mr. Geology?"
The noise of agreeable murmurs went on for some time. I did not lift my head from my desk. I was in, dear reader, complete DESPAIR.
After a while, Mr. Geology announced that he would think over this possibility of having (yet) another Test, and returned to his lecture. I wrote down the properties of hot spots and what they form (for instance, Hawaii), but my pen dragged all over my nice clean paper and spurted bits of ink everywhere.
You may recall that I was in DESPAIR.
You may add to that burning emotion one of FEAR.
And of TERROR.
And also TERRIBLE ANXIETY.
Furthermore, I bore no love for the girl in the front row. I was sure that she had only wanted a few extra points, but had she considered what would happen if her idea worked, and she failed the Test? It would cost her her grade! It would cost me my grade!
At this point you may have a few questions for me. "So?" you ask. "Why should I care if you got a bad grade?"
Well, dear reader, I am the one writing this blog. If I were you, I would keep my (the author's) well-being in mind. After all, I may write nasty things about you! Who knows? I could be that girl on the bus next to you. Or that young guy walking through the park with the baseball hat and the perpetual smirk. Or I could even be an elderly woman, peering out her kitchen window and watching you vandalize that old apartment wall. You never know.
Or, I could be your best friend. Or your sister's aunt's niece's daughter's relative. (Try and figure that out, I dare you!) Or a distant cousin, or an ex-friend.
Or your spouse.
So please keep my happiness in mind.
Now, as I was saying, I was sitting in class. In total and absolute DESPAIR.
This feeling persisted for quite some time. In fact, all the way until the end of the class, which equals roughly an hour, or possibly even more. I languished in my misery, feeling depressed and woebegone and generally in DESPAIR and several other emotions too.
Mr. Geology took it into his head to ask me a question.
"Anonymous Titan, do you know how the islands of Hawaii were formed?"
I lifted my head from my desk and gazed at him with watery eyes. "By a hot spot, Mr. Geology."
"Wonderful!" he exclaimed. "Class, give Anonymous Titan a round of applause!"
In reality, he turned back to the class (after giving me a pleased smile) and began lecturing again. How could he have not seen the blazing DESPAIR in my eyes? Such a thing was utterly incomprehensible.
We will pause for a moment of silence while I contain myself.
At the end of class, Mr. Geology announced that he had decided not to give us another Test. Groans of horror met his words, but I lifted my head from my desk and swiped the puddle of tears off onto the floor. (The guy in front of me got a little wet, but I handed him a paper towel. I carry them around for occasions like this one.)
The girl in the front who had started this whole fiasco seemed downcast, but not I!
No, I was triumphant!
Dear reader, you may wonder why. You may be thinking that I had done nothing whatsoever to remedy the situation, besides weep onto my desk and drop my head into my hands numerous times. Oh, and hand the guy in front of me a paper towel.
Clearly, you do not grasp the strength of my appeal. I, with my burning, watery eyes, and amazing ability to answer questions even under the crushing weight of DESPAIR, singlehandedly convinced Mr. Geology of his position on the matter of the Test. I, dear reader, rescued my entire class from another exam with only six perfectly spoken words.
I will pause to listen to the sound of unanimous agreement.
I am sure that you would like a tip or two. They will come in handy, I assure you.
Tip #3: Always have a roll of paper towels. You never know when you might need them.
Tip #4: Doodling on your notes instead of writing actual words leads to lower examination scores.
Farewell, dear reader. Perhaps next week I will speak on the matter of classrooms, and why some are bad and some are good, and why some are not.
I expect you to show up promptly at nine.
But if you cannot make it, I suppose that is all right. I will see you later, then.
To you, I say, Farewell.
