You Don't Want to Read This
I've gone from Ranty Dancehall to Ragey Dancehall. And you don't wanna read that.
Blame Mona and her Friday word, 'Negative'.
Dear Mr. Department Head,
What a thrill it was for you, wasn't it, to hear us call your name, see us charging towards you, leaving behind trays gleaming with aqueous and vitreous humours, retinas and nerves, a thrill to see the Broncos cheerleader hopeful, the exotic bodybuilder, the housewife in stilettos and the lovely young coed, all wanting your attention as you passed through the lab on your way to the cadaver room. Such a hawt lil fan club! I could tell by the way your face flushed and your eyes widened, the goofy smile, the way you staggered backwards. What a funny little bunny you were! Oh, and how those perky ears drooped when you heard what we had to say, though not so first. Not so. They stood right up at first.
Perhaps you realized who we were. What is it you call our class? The Dream Team? We're the best class this department has ever seen, the best class our instructor has seen in her thirteen years of teaching at all the colleges in Denver. Our class average is 14% higher than the other A&P classes, even though we all take the same tests. You've charted us, discussed us in meetings, grilled Nurse Bagel and Coach about their teaching methods, and you and your colleagues still can't figure out why this small group of twelve people with NO medical or science experience is kicking everybody else's ass. You can't believe that a dancer, a cheerleader, a waiter, a massage therapist, some young little thangs and a couple of housewives are able to do this. (You can't figure it out to the point that you maybe, possibly, think that our class maybe, possibly is cheating.)
Hey, we can't figure it out either! Except that we are simply busting our asses studying, showing up at all the open labs, quizzing and encouraging each other.
And we like this, Mr. Department Head. We like our classmates, and we lurves our instructor, Nurse Bagel. We ask her every class period, “So do you know yet if you're teaching one of the A&P II classes this summer? The schedules are out and it says 'to be announced'...” We want to know because we want to keep the dream alive.
And Nurse Bagel rolls her eyes, tells us that she STILL doesn't know even though she requested it last January, and that she usually teaches the class, but you, Mr. Department Head, have not responded to her emails.
You have a lot of power in your little kingdom here, Mr. Department Head. You decide who teaches and who gets kicked out of the ivory tower every semester. I thought competition was fierce trying to get into nursing school or sonography school or med tech school. It is nothing compared to what the instructors have to go through here to teach a class because the school won't hire anyone onto the staff. Freelance teachers. Keeps 'em cheap, right?
So back to us, your little flash fans, as we converge on you in the lab.
“Have you decided who's teaching A&P II this summer?” asked the cheerleader, practically jumping out of her tennis shoes.
You smiled. OH did you smile at her! Well, yes I have...” Look at those bunny ears stand straight up!
“Is Nurse Bagel teaching?”
That smile froze. Those ears might have drooped ever so slightly. You took a breath. “No,” you said. “But,” and that smile got wider and those little eyes narrowed! “I happen to know that the instructor who's teaching it IS preeeeeetty good—”
“Bagel's not teaching?” we said. No, we lamented.
“Well, I'm...um...” You didn't bother finishing because your fan club turned as one and slumped back to more eyeball dissections.
We didn't even look back as you made you way on to Veronica* and Seven of Nine* waiting in their empty room.
But I think I saw something in your eyes, Mr Department Head. I think you are teaching it because you want a shot at us. What would you do with our Dream Team? I imagine lots and lots of trick questions and lots and lots of monitoring.
But you know what? I think a few of us might wait you out. There are other pre-reqs that need taking in the meantime.
*My names for the cadavers, not theirs. They don't officially name them anymore.