A Terrible Experience Relived...Or Nearly So

If you know me at all or if you have spent any amount of time around me in the past three months, you know two things:

                     1. Science and I have never been friends.

                      2. Last semester I had a Biology class that nearly caused me to lose my mind with frustration until I hit a point where I stopped caring completely and totally.

Without going into too many details, suffice it to say that material covered on tests did not accurately reflect in any way what was covered in class, to the point that I wanted to hurl things at the professor and the TAs. It's an established fact: it was one of the worst, one of the most drawn-out, one of the most painful experiences of my life. Period.

In contrast, this semester I do not have any classes that will not be useful to me in someway in the future - not one - be it in my career choice or more advanced classes in my chosen field of university study. One of the courses this semester is a once-a-week British Literature class that lasts two and a half hours. With my regular work schedule and because of other prerequisites, this was about my only option for this class even though it was definitely not my first choice, but we do what we have to.

Last Wednesday was the first class period. On Tuesday at about 4:00 PM I received an email from the professor of this class welcoming us all to the world of Romantic and Victorian Literature. The syllabus was also attached along with a large reading assignment and a short (1-2 page) response paper due the next evening. This was odd, but what I found odd wasn't necessarily the fact that we had an assignment due the first day, rather it was the volume of the assignment and the fact that we had about 24 hours to do it in in addition to all of my other homework. But, I said to myself, that's college life! I read through the syllabus and spent a few hours on the assignment, although I still only did three-quarters of the reading, opting to read the huge summary of the Romantic Period and writing an overview of it and neglecting to read two pieces of literature written by authors of that period.

This evening I got to class and the professor instructed us to pull out a sheet of paper first thing. "We're going to have a little quiz," my professor said. Hmm. I immediately regretted not having read the two assigned readings and was about to pay for it on the first day of class. But it turned out that the quiz wasn't on our readings...

"Question number one. What are my office hours?"

What? Are you kidding me? I'm supposed to have retained your office hours, of all things on that syllabus?! That's why I have this thing, so I don't have to memorize your office hours!

"Question number two. What is my attendance policy?"

This is a joke.....why would I be worried about the attendance policy before the class even starts?? I mean, I had read over the entire syllabus, including the attendance policy, but I was a little more concerned with what kind of assignments we would be getting and what the weekly workload would look like, wasn't I??

The quiz continued. "How many children do I have? What is my late work policy? What are your reading journals supposed to look like?" And on and on for ten questions. This is outrageous, I thought to myself. If this is any portent of things to come in this class, I'm dropping it this very evening. Where had I experienced this before....? Ridiculous questions, no way of knowing on what we'd be tested...it was Bio 100 all over again!!! But...but this is supposed to be British Literature!

I felt that familiar sensation right around the bottom of my ribcage, as if a literal substance called anger or temper were rising up through my body and, unchecked, would come out of my mouth in the form of unrestrained, insulting fury. There is no way I'm staying in this class, absolutely no way! I started to think of other free times in my week when I could look for a British Lit class at home this evening when the time came to correct our quizzes. This is unbelievable, I thought. Who tests their class on the syllabus before anything on it has been explained?! Of all the stupid and pointless things to have to commit to memory!

Then, in a split second, my professor went from being cursed over and over in my mind to an elevated position rarely attained by any teacher I've had (well maybe not that high...)

"Of course I'm not quizzing you on the syllabus! Quizzes on reading material are stupid and only show a lack of trust between the professor and the student. If you say you've done your readings, you've done them! And if not, well....we'll see that in the papers and on the tests."

A wave of relief spread over my mind and heart and I'm sure my facial expression lightened considerably. Bless this man, this antithesis of my biology professor and all her ideals! I wouldn't have to drop the class at all!! In the hour that followed (we got out early since it was the first day and all), I not only was glad that I wouldn't have to drop the class, I was really looking forward to keeping the class and looked forward to some of the assignments and readings. With only two papers due and no silly quizzes on the readings? I don't think British Lit is going to be bad at all.

"I know your face..." "I know your life."

One thing about me is that I remember people's faces and names quite well and, for the most part, many of my interactions with them and/or things I learned about them from them. Sometimes I look up random people from my kindergarten class that moved away on Facebook just to see what they have become, even though they probably have no memory of me (kindergarten was a while ago, after all). This also happened on my mission when we would try to talk to people in the streets. Of course, those who would brush us off like dead flies were certainly ejected from my memory, unless their refusal was particularly rude, which made them almost easier to remember. But whenever we actually did have a meaningful conversation or at least one that lasted longer than 30 seconds, their face was etched in my brain and sometimes we would see them again and it was a bit awkward. Do I acknowledge that we know each other even though I never found out your name or do we acknowledge each other even though we had a ten minute debate on the existence of prophets today? Or the most common question: Do you remember me? And even though it is probably hard to forget two young Americans stopping you on your way to work, it still almost inevitably became an awkward game of alternating eye contact until the moment comes when you must make a decision, which usually turns out as a head nod.

Is it obvious that l I overthink things?

The reason that I overthink this particular thing is due to the fact that often I remember people, but they don't remember me. At least it appears so. Therefore, when I meet a slight acquaintance from a few weeks ago or a friend of a friend that I met at a party, I usually remember them, but I'm never sure if they remember me. I saw a great example of this the other night. I was visiting Temple Square tonight with a good friend. We were entering a building and I opened the door for myself and my friend held it for some people after me. As I waited for my friend, the group of young people walked past me and I instantly recognized one of them. It was a missionary from my mission but quite a bit older than I was and kind of looks like a dinosaur. I sort of stared at him trying to see if he had recognized me, having already met on several occasions. Nothing. I wasn't offended but I did want to tell my friend who was with me (also from the mission) that I knew who it was. Then, before I had a chance, the older missionary turned back, looked at me strangely and our conversation went as follows. Italics are my unvocalized thoughts.

Him: Excuse me...do you speak _____?
Me: Yea, I do.
Him: Did you serve in the ________ mission?
Me: Yea! And so did you. Your name is _____ ______. You were my Zone Leader for a transfer. I've actually seen you several times on campus already.Him: Hey, me too! When did you get home?
Me: In June, so it hasn't been a super long time. You went home in December of 2010, right after my six month mark. I remember your last testimony at Christmas Conference. You mentioned that you really learned to talk with God on your mission.Him: Ok. Who was in your group?
Me: You trained my friend Elder ______ but to avoid any possible awkward situations which would arise from showing that I know more than I'm saying, I'll mention him third or fourth. Oh, Elder So-and-So, Elder What's-his-name, and Elder _______
Him: Ok, cool, I trained him!
Me: I know. In Brest. Really? That's awesome. Good to see you!
Him: You too!

Is this normal?!

Now, obviously that doesn't truly follow my true stream of thought during the conversation, but in the moments that followed it, I certainly did a mental run-through of all the things I remembered about him. One factor that may play into this one-sided memory lapse can be based on the fact that when you are older in the mission, you aren't really aware of younger missionaries, but when you are new, you learn to know everybody. So maybe I'm not crazy. At least not in this given instance.

This also happened in one of my first class periods this semester. A girl from a dance class I took when I was a freshman walked in and I remembered her instantly. After a few days she looked at me funny and said, "I think I know you from somewhere, but I can't think where." It's the dance class that we both took fall and winter semesters. You were also in my English class winter semester. When my turn came to present myself in front of the class, you asked me what my favorite dance step was that we had learned. You had long hair that you chopped off into a pixie cut that you are still sporting. Yea, it's so weird, I know you too.....Oh, I know! Dance class freshman year!

From her tone of voice, I suspected that she remembered too and was merely being socially correct. This leads to my big question: Does everyone remember faces and I am just ignorant of it? Is it so necessary to maintain social grace and avoid coming off as creepy that we feign temporary amnesia? I know I certainly do. How off-putting is it if you go around reciting every fact you know about a person that you haven't talked to more than a handful of times in very casual settings that took place over two years ago? I think a lot of people would want to forget me if I did something like that.

I guess this is what they call a social conundrum because I'm not sure what the solution is. As uncertain as I am of the solution, I'm equally certain that I cannot be the only one to whom this happens. But I'm not as certain that there needs to be a solution. It's not a problem, but just something that occurs once in a while in everyone's life. (But if there is a solution, please tell me.)

Conclusion? Usually I like to tidy things up in nice bows at the end of talks, papers, and now blog posts. In formal papers for school, if you look at how long my conclusions and body are in proportion to how much  time was spent on each, conclusions will leave the body far behind. Everything has to be summed up in just the right way. So I'm breaking  my own rules here and even going against my character in saying that I have absolutely no resolution or conclusion to offer.






That was really hard to type.