Coming to a Classroom Near You

After reading Master Fob's post of editorgirl-inspired insanity, I felt so pleased with myself that I have decided to share my own IMI (instructor moment of insanity)--although, today's will decidedly not be appearing in Master Fob's classroom anytime soon. I hope.

Today was yet another day where I went to class without a lesson plan. I'm waiting for someone to call me on it, but so far, nothing. But there is one student who I continue to suspect suspects something. Of course, this could be because he's a rather attractive male and I find myself suspicious and insecure around rather attractive males, regardless of their status as my student, my instructor, my home teacher, my neighbor, my sales clerk, my. . . I'll spare you (unless you were having fun, in which case, be my guest).

So now that editorgirl has permitted herself one awkward instructor admission (and yes, editorgirl recognizes that she has just switched from first to third person--she got bored), she is going to continue her story.

After a rushwrite, a storytelling competition, and general tomfoolery, I began my little lecture for the day about writing and imagery and writing yourself as a character. And there, in the second row of desks, is the RAM, looking very intense. At least, as intense as a person can look in a 115 class. The effect was heightened by his heavier brow--does that image even make sense? It's a kind of less pronounced Frankenstein's monster kind of thing going on--and now you will never again believe my taste in men. (And if you saw my two ex-boyfriends, plus the seven-year-crush, you never would have believed in my taste in men to begin with. Oy.)

All of my rambling here is, of course, to demonstrate today's teaching style. I tend to wind off on various storytelling tangents which endear me to my students but accomplish nothing more. But today, as I was talking and doing the scan-the-room-to-include-everyone head motion, I kept stopping at Mr. RAM. And not because he's a RAM--because he was looking at me so intently. I finally stopped and said--no, exclaimed--something to the effect of "Why are you looking at me like that?!?"

Everyone in that row stopped and looked to see who I was exclaiming at, as I continued to exclaim, "Not that it's a bad thing, it's just unnerving. You're so. . . what's the word. . . just staring and. . ." "Intense?" another student offered. "Yes. Intense. Which is a good thing."

My babbling was stopped by the student sitting behind RAM apologizing. He had been singled out by the other students. "No, not you. It's [RAM]." RAM started and began apologizing. "I'm sorry. I was just listening to what you were saying."

"Well, stop doing that."

I did apologize after class. I guess it's a good thing Master Fob loves me unconditionally, because I am doing my best to scare everyone else away.