Life Among the Never-Winged

Once upon a time I was writing a book called, "Just Another Love Letter", about angels behaving badly. Now I just quietly ask myself each day, "What the hell am I doing?"

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Location: The Rocky Mountain Empire, United States

My friends always knew I was going to hell. My only hope is that God likes good jokes and bad redheads.

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  • Friday, April 11, 2008

    You Don't Want to Read This



    Seriously. Go read about Stucco's antics over on Irrelephant's site.



    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.







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    9 people left me a love letter:

    OpenID Gordo wrote in a love letter...

    Oh, lovely. So, the Head's going to get to the bottom of this, is he? Witch hunts, especially undeclared ones serve no one's best interests. Good luck.

    11:14 AM, April 11, 2008  
    Blogger Irrelephant wrote in a love letter...

    If I've only learned one thing in my time here on this blue marble it's that there's no end to the depths of bloodymindedness, crassness, or just plain stupidity to which some people willingly sink.

    Nietzche was right--people ARE born evil.

    Don't be ashamed of that rage, Nancy. It's got a damned good raison d'etre, and maybe you're rage will help push the scales in the right direction. Never be ashamed to fight for what you feel is right.

    11:41 AM, April 11, 2008  
    Anonymous Meredith wrote in a love letter...

    hey sweets, that sucks, but be contented by the fact that Ranty or Ragey Dancehall is better than Raunchy. Mostly. Sometimes. xo

    11:56 AM, April 11, 2008  
    Blogger Clowncar wrote in a love letter...

    What a dick.

    Playing with the lives of the students and the teachers to assuage his ego.

    Perhaps you all are doing so well because you've bonded with your teacher - she motivates you to learn at your peak potential, you motivate her to teach at her best. We don't want that happening. Could lead to something dangerous. Like excellence.

    Ranty, Ragey, Raunchy. I'll take whatever you wanna dish.

    12:10 PM, April 11, 2008  
    Anonymous Rudi wrote in a love letter...

    I'm going to take the other side. Consider this thought:

    Don't attribute to malice what can be explained by stupidity, laziness, simple pettiness and a host of other venial sins.

    The guy may well be a malicious a-hole. A real possibility. But being a malicious a-hole takes work.

    Personally, I know I'm just way to lazy to work up that level mean.

    2:25 PM, April 11, 2008  
    Blogger Bud wrote in a love letter...

    Well, I'm outraged. Politics is every where and I'm beginning to understand revolution a lot better.

    8:24 AM, April 12, 2008  
    Blogger ms chica wrote in a love letter...

    putz.

    Sounds alot like a HS anatomy teacher I had.

    7:31 PM, April 12, 2008  
    Blogger greenmoss wrote in a love letter...

    Great Googly Eyeballs! The Humour doth flow from the squinty eyes of Mr. Department Head. Even Veronica and Seven of Nine could see that.
    I had an A&P instructor that everyone hated. He had some kind of love affair with Fetal Pigs. He had a heart attach at the beginning of A&P II. Then we got Mr. Nicer Than Hell. It was such a relief. Nursing School...those were the days. I had a study partner that revealed part of her anatomy. It didn't help me pass any tests.
    I hope you pass all yours and provide nursing services to me when I have to go to the hospital for a sudden and unexpected irreversible pouty look that gets stuck on my face just like my grandma said it would.
    Greenmoss

    10:49 PM, April 14, 2008  
    Anonymous Daisy wrote in a love letter...

    Rock on! (If only I'd had my own Motley Crew while I was in school, she added, wistfully....)

    12:20 PM, April 16, 2008  

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