SYNOPSIS — Andrew begins his second year of teaching at Saku University, wearing glasses chains.
──────── ✧ ────────
SEPTEMBER - SEMESTER 1 ; FIRST DAY OF CLASSES
I PULL UP to campus at around 6:45 in the morning, sometimes on the dot if I'm that much of a perfectionist with the concept of time and coordination. I've noticed it when it came to driving and how much energy is consumed before commencing classes. My morning routine is never impaired during the early hours, but I'm human - even I hate the morning cold, and it puts me in a dull mood where I'm not ready to speak until at least 7:30AM.
To whom it may concern, no, I'm not the "Don't talk to me until I've had my coffee" type of person. My coffee is always transferred into a silver stainless steel travel mug, and I bring it with me to work, and mostly everywhere I go. If it's not coffee, it's tea and a crumpet. Sometimes. I refill my mug every three hours and squeeze in my lunch with lemon and mint leaf infused water. Perhaps I am kind of stubborn, or maybe I just hate everyone.
I've been waking myself up with intrusive thoughts ever since the incident. In one way, it should be motivation to do better and sympathize with students, but isn't that what I've already been doing? It's not like I treat them like dirt. One review that the Dean never acknowledged said that I either smelled like expensive cologne or coffee.
While that holds partial truth, I don't consider it a bad review. The majority of the reviews were there to give me a bad name, others gave a brief explanation on my teaching style and giving out advice to other students. If I refresh that page now, nothing new would pop up. If I refresh the page in December, there should be a couple new ones posted. They would have read all of the previous ones. Students moving in a higher semester will have me again, or new students would get the impression that I'm a monster.
My mind is racing. Disregard. It's too early to overthink and have my mental health downward spiraling from anonymous slander. There's no benefit of me overthinking the entire situation, and I've been withdrawn from my cellular to avoid reading any further criticism unless it's for emergencies. At least my morning is going smoothly before 8AM.
"Andy, long time!" a chirpy voice that strikes every nerve in my body - already tarnishing my morning. I turn.
The bubbly, all talk but no teach professor from the Math department flashes me that stupid grin. I've only spoken to him once, and that was to kindly ask him not to take so much Splenda packets from other faculty's bowl.
I nod back as a response, and my back faced him so I could dismiss unwanted interaction. I bring the mug to my lips so the rim concealed my mumbling. "It's Andrew, you twat."
"So," he walks over to me at the counter, swinging his foot over the other as he leaned aside to seem cool. "How are the kids?"
I glance at my watch and groan. It's not even 7AM. "You're mistaking me for someone else. I don't have children."
"Missus? Mister? Partner? Friends with Benefits? Any hookups over the summer break?" Before I could even answer to such a personal question, he squints at the optical area of my face, wiggling his finger to point. "My mom wears those when she reads off of my son's report card."
The chains around my glasses are very efficient. Some may call it "granny chain", so should I be insulted if I get called old for owning and making use of them?
Without consent, he slaps me on the back so aggressively I nearly spilled my coffee. "See you on the ice, Four-eyes!" And he exits.
Clever. I sigh in defeat. Morning tarnished. I don't think I've ever been called that before, not even in my youth. He does this because I'm one of the youngest in the faculty.
I briefly recall our first encounter where he introduced himself and insert a quirky joke, but I never bothered to remember the punchline - let alone his own name. Hopefully there will be a time where I'll remember, then wish to forget. Just like how I wish to forget that stupid review.
──────── ✧ ────────
7:59 AM ON MY watch. My satchel could only carry so much, but not as much as the strength in my shoulder. The lecture hall is now twenty feet away at a walking distance. I pick up the pace for a bit until I pulled the doors open.
I inhale a sharp breath. The doors slammed shut.
About eighty pairs of eyes were staring down at me.
I exhale. You're here to teach, nurture and inspire.
"Right, good morning. For those returning or repeating this course, welcome back. Twice is enough but third time's the charm. If you have no idea who I am, I'm Professor Andrew Marston, but we're going to keep things formal, so you all may address me as Professor Marston and Professor Marston only, or just simply Professor. First hour is syllabus, next hour we're jumping straight to the foundations of literature."
I hear some faint sighs.
Another thing others point out other than my responsibility of time and coordination and my travel mug: my perfectionism of teaching. I jump straight to the point so nothing and no one is falling behind. Hearing a room of young adults groaning and sighing at the idea of academic study is equivalent to hearing a toddler throwing a tantrum when their parent tells them to put their toys away. It's rather refreshing to hear involuntary responses like that after a break. But if you're out here to complain, why did you sign up for my class?
I enter my instructor login on Moodle, plugging in the chord on the side so the screen was shared on the giant projector above me, and it brightened the dimly lit room. "Show of hands, how many of you have applied for student aid?"
All of them had theirs up. "Good. Because the costs of the textbooks you acquire for this course will be as heavy as the pages. Before any of you ask: no, they are not out of date. Please purchase them as soon as possible, try not to lose them - you will also be needing them for the following semesters. These textbooks are your bible, not a hard surface to roll up your weed."
I continue down the next couple of slides, going into enough detail in the course addendum and what my students would be expecting in the long run.
A single hand rose in the air.
"Yes?" I call.
"In the previous slide, it said the final exam is worth 30%?"
"It was initially 25, but it has been upped by 5%. You have to aim for that five percent in order to be successful in this course. Or at least a passing grade."
I could feel the room intensify with anxiety.
"Let's not lose our heads during syllabus. The only time you lot can run around like chickens with their heads cut off would be spring break, because that's when Airbnb's and liquor stores come together to form the third world war."
I receive a few giggles. That seemed to ease some tension.
"I won't lie, literature is hard to grasp because it has existed since Mesopotamia, and because of that there's so much to cover from different timelines, but I guarantee all of you will pass this course."
I look around, and my eyes landed on a person sitting at the front row. We make eye contact for five seconds straight before I was the first to look away.
I noticed it right away. In fact, I recognized them. They were in my literature class last year, and was relatively quiet. I was always impressed with the work they submitted. Always on time, clear and precise, maybe not always, but they managed to pass my class with a decent grade. We show the addendum power point during syllabus, showing what textbooks were required for the course, and only they had one of the physical copies of the textbook in their hands because that was what they had purchased last year.
What I don't understand is why they're in a class they previously took last year? They could have slept in for another two hours for Literature 201. I fear for the bad scenario. It would be pitiful if I found out they failed a semester and had to retake my class.
My senses return when I noticed another hand up.
"Yes! Apologies."
"Can we record lectures on voice memo?" The student from the middle row asked.
"I would say yes because what I would convey verbally is just as important to gravitate as you read from your texts and notes, but I rather not see a phone in sight, so I will object to that. Keep in mind that that's equivalent to taking photos of a lecture slide and you see a crumb of my figure in the background. Also, everyone hates the sound of their own voice."
I glance at my watch. "Right, let's jump right in to literature. Show of hands how many of you did a bit of summer reading?"
──────── ✧ ────────
A/N - lemme say a couple of things; other writers who are writing professor marston fanfics have used 'Saku University' so i decided to go along with it! second, saku released season 2 of the strict professor series on youtube and i'm AMPEDDDDD
i also imagine andrew's lecture hall looking like this.
votes/feedback + sharing this fanfic to others are greatly appreciated <3333