You get two 1st days of school each year in college, but for some reason, I only get excited about starting classes about once a year. Maybe it's because I don't have much faith that I'll learn anything in the classes offered, or maybe it's a mood-swing phenomenon that is simply inexplicable, but it's, with certainty, a fact.
As I entered this semester - one I'm hoping to graduate after - still four credits short, including the class I gave up on and failed last semester, I somehow found myself excited to start school again. For once, I had hope, and it came in the form of a class called "Media Communications." Surely if there is a class in this world that is tailored to my future career, this would be it... and maybe I'd finally take something useful away from college... something other than the ability to sled using a lunch tray.
As 2 p.m. neared, and my first class of the day came closer and closer to reality, a co-worker of mine shattered my dreams. "You will learn nothing in that class," he told me, then went on to explain that a good grade would require me pretending to be a liberal just to fit myself into the professor's bias. By the end of the night, I was no longer in that class, but that story isn't quite as good as the following one, so let's just move on.
Somewhat dejected, I found my way to "Relationship Communication," being held in a classroom about the size of a walk-in closet. Forty students piled into the room, with seven of the nine boys all lined up in desks against the far wall. I squeezed into a seat in the sea of women (presumably all seeking relationship advice... from a professor. We're all doomed), wondered how many people were actually already in my bubble, and waited for class to start.
The professor, a younger Chinese woman, entered the room, and began talking about the history of China, the festivals China has, and all this information regarding China. I double-checked my class schedule. Yup, I was pretty sure I was in the right room/over-sized pantry. Fifteen minutes later, she finally stops and asks, "Does anyone have any questions about China?" It took everything in me to avoid raising my hand and asking "When can we expect you to stop talking about it?" I also briefly entertained the notion of asking what it's like being friends with Kim Jong Il and the rest of North Korea, how many female babies had been killed off in 2010, and where they got all the lead for their toys. Not wanting to make waves, I was a good boy and kept my hand down and mouth shut.
Finally, she began talking about the class, and as I relaxed and read through the syllabus, I couldn't help looking around the room and thinking, "If the topic stays off of China, and we don't hear too many "and then I ate a gallon of ice cream" stories, maybe this won't be a horrible class, after all."
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