03| Chapter Three
2015, January | Harlem, New York
After my brief pep talk with Leah, I decided to attend class.
I studied at a small college not too far from my apartment. It was a nice college, don't get me wrong, but I never felt as if I "fitted in". A lot of the people there were somewhat depressed because they wanted to go to NYU, or Princeton, or SCAD or whatever prestige college that they had their mind set on. What made them come to Harlem Tech boggled my mind. I didn't even want to be here, but in high school, name brand colleges was something I just didn't pay attention to. I just wanted to get in somewhere, graduate with my bachelor's in biology. I didn't know if that was good enough to get me teaching Biology in a classroom, but I could only hope it was. I wanted to teach almost as much as I wanted to breathe.
So I suppose me skipping class myself and not putting education as my priority was a mistake.
I attempted to pay attention in class. I kept my eyes foreward and took notes. Even though my phone was buzzing heavily in my purse just next to me, I didn't check it, not even once. And after the forty five minute class was over, I realized just why I didn't want to be here in the first place.
My teacher was terrible.
The forty five minutes was spent with him reading directly from the book and then ocassionaly writing flimsy words on the board that he labeled as "Important." If that was how you were suppose to teach than I believe I've been witnessing it wrong the whole time. I watched as everyone left the class. I was the last person in here, not because I wanted to ask him any questions, but because I had plenty of make up work that needed to be turned it.
I stood up from the desk and grabbed the important papers before paper clipping them together.
The teacher, Proffessor Storm, eyed me with a questioning look on his face. He was curious to where I have been for the past few days. But it was against his role to question. I only answered what I wanted to which was a benefit. I placed the four worksheets on his desk and sent him a small smile. He paused, looked at me, and then gestured for me to take a seat. I did, hesitantly. He looked over the papers one by one and grade each one of them. It was a tedious task I must admit for he continued to flip from page to page on the answer sheet, and then on my paper.
"Don't they have an electronic grader?" I questioned.
Professor Storm, who was only about thirty, laughed.
"We do, but when I was in college, they told us grading by hand shows dedication." He responded. I nodded. I wouldn't be that kind of teacher. This was a waste of time that he could be using to do something more productive.
"I was sick." I blurted out.
Not because I wanted him to know why I was out, but because the silence was killing me and I needed something to say. The professor nodded, not even caring to ask me about more details. In return, he simply stated, "The flu is going around." I was glad that he believed me. He wasn't too bad, I'd admit that. Though his teaching sucked, his one on one personality made up for it. Maybe if he'd put that same charisma that he's giving me now into teaching, the whole class would benefit heavily. But who was I to tell him how to teach a class? He clearly had a degree and I didn't.
Professor Storm finished soon after and wrote down the grades of the four papers I turned in today. They were all pretty good, except an eighty on an essay I wrote. That wasn't surprising. I wasn't too good on essays, but when it came to writing in general, I was pretty good at that. Professor Storm sent one toothy smile my way before turning towards the computer. I got up from the seat and exited the classroom. I wanted to feel proud of myself, but instead I felt as if I wasted a good two hours of my time. Especially now that I was checking my text messages and seeing that Quentin, Joey, Rakim and Leah were going out to the movies soon. I sent them all a quick text telling them to wait for me before heading back outside.
