At the risk of sounding mean, I have decided to blog about my summer course at the esteemed Hamline University in Minneapolis. I was hoping to walk in on day one and see a classroom full of hot, smart, 20 something business majors who were taking some time off from their summer softball leagues and finance internships to fulfill some college course units. Instead what I walked into was a room full of Chinese exchange students holding pocket translators and making the teacher sound like an idiot trying to pronounce their names (one of the nicer ones told her to use his American name, "Alexander"). Not to mention, one of them kept peering over his shoulder to look at me giggle. Apart from the 7 Chinese students, there are 4 grad students (all who have children they have left at home), and one, weird, over eager, white kid who took all his notes in orange highlighter (just like a true winner). I decided that the only way I would make it through the 32 hours of this course was to speak up, but not only speak up, I decided to, on any issue I could, be the devil's advocate. I figure, the grad gals might think it's funny, the weirdy wouldn't have the cajones to disagree, and the Asians wouldn't even get it. The two hour class session barely crawled at a snail's pace and I noticed my note were not only getting sloppier, but I was writing snarky comments in the margins about rational self-interest and GDP. The professor, Fahima Aziz (guess her nationality... yup, she's Irish!) spoke with the knowledge (and accent) of Ghandi and the Fiber One spokesman rolled into one super prof, then decided to take a moment and talk about types of government on a scale from Communist to Capitalist. She made sure that the class knew that U.S was a mixed market economy, and also made sure that the corrupt Chinese spy students understood how much she disliked communism.
When I returned home after an excruciating first day I turned back the clock to middle school and got out some graph paper, a ruler, a calculator, and a velvet Scrunchi. All things I had not touched since Mr. William's 8th grade algebra class. I must admit, I am very prone to panic attacks that occur over the smallest things and while I was plotting a graph showing the direct relationship between Abigail and Brutis' wages at "So-and So Inc." I began to experience shortness of breath, dizziness, and sweaty palms. Okay... so maybe the sweaty palms thing doesn't mean anything (I swear to you I am going to start a foundation one day). Let's just say, I began to freak out. I can't remember the last time I found the slope of a line and frankly, my lack of experience made me nervous. I have never felt the combination of high stress and stupidity together at this level before. Thankfully, I didn't call my neighbor in 7th grade to come tutor me and I made it through my first assignment. Tomorrow's class is only 10 hours away and I can already feel the stress settle in. The theories, the graphs, the politics... my only choice is to suck it up, grab my A and run back to Westmont with my transcript and the pocket translator I plan on stealing from Lee, in my sweaty hands.
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