BALLISTICS

My seatmate was ecstatic. He received an “A” for a very well written summary paper much to the jealous consternation of his peers. He was caught by surprise – half-dazed, half-disbelieving. I bet there was that euphoric knot in his tummy that is so typical of unexpected but pleasant shocks. But his joy was short-lived.

No sooner had our class started with the respectable professor going over the pages of the photo-copied textbook when a classmate – tall, lean, white – walked in, fifteen minutes after the official time. She said, “good evening” in a very soft voice, tried as much as she could not to draw too much attention to her being late, and went straight to her chair.

The professor paused, somewhat irked, and made a few understandable remarks about the need to be respectful of everyone’s time – his, most especially. After all, he scolded, he was not paid much for his teaching stint in the school and couldn’t we be a bit considerate as he was tired from a hell of a day at his other job? Hey, did he forget that we did not make his choices for him?

And then, like a furious tornado, he ripped through the lesson of the night, two chapters in less than 40 minutes and briskly read through paragraphs and chapters like a mad man in a mad rush egged by an imploding tantrum. When he finished, he asked if anyone had a question. No one answered.

He then told us to get one-fourth sheet of yellow paper and reminiscent of Rambo, he machine-gunned us with one question after another without enough pauses to give us time to answer. Obviously, he didn’t want us to pass the quiz. In retaliation, perhaps, for what he perceived to be a breach of class decorum?

But the culprit was just one girl – a girl whose face I remember, but whose name is lost even if I were to rummage through the compartments of my memory. How could he have rewarded her with that importance? How could he have set aside the other forty plus students who waited for him even if he was ten minutes late himself? How could he have punished those who reviewed their lessons just in case they were called to recite or those who aspired to get a perfect score in the quiz? By acting the way he did, he showed to us that he was no better than the girl who came in late. In fact, if we were to go by the adage “to whom much is given, much is required”, he was even worse.

I watched in disbelief as he carried his thirty-something demeanor – a bit awkward for a man of his age and his profession. He was cool, calm, and collected on the surface, but there was an inner rage. I was told that the night before, a similar incident in his junior class also dampened the spirit of the hapless students.

I only got 13 out of the 20 items in the quiz – the first time I received such a low grade in a quiz the answers of which I knew very well but was not given enough time to write. But, hey, this was more to his shame than mine.

I do not know what score my seatmate received. But what I knew was that he was so furious he kicked the chairs in the room where we were to hold our next class. Imagine how let down he must have felt! From upright ecstasy to downright devastation!

As I watched our professor leave the room, quiz papers and photo-copied textbook in hand, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for that unnecessary display of immature bravado.

The irony of it all was that he was teaching us Ethics.



28 November 2008