With the semester now over, I thought I’d post a short story I wrote awhile ago about a biology professor’s meeting with a student during office hours. Keep in mind this is fiction although my friends in education can probably relate.
Office Hours
By Bruce Forciea
Doyle sat facing his student while maintaining a neutral face.
“What can I do to help?” he said leaning forward and making eye contact.
“I just have a couple of questions,” she said while beginning to rattle and sift through the disorganized mess emerging from her backpack.
Doyle sat with patience, his mind wandering to the upcoming lunch plans on his busy schedule. Julie, a student in his biology class, seemed like a nice middle-thirtyish mature going back to school for a second career type of gal.
“Let’s start with this one,” she said flipping pages in her notebook and smoothing out the last one as if removing the wrinkles would make it more legible.
“I’m confused about these sensory receptors. Is this a receptor?” she said pointing to an entry in her notebook.
“Actually, no,” said Doyle with a methodical calmness. “That is a type of receptor. Remember there are receptors and there are types or categories of receptors.”
“I’m so confused,” said Julie. “I thought those were the receptors.”
“You probably have the receptors on the next pages of your notes,” said Doyle.
Julie turned the page of her notebook. Doyle spotted the receptors and said, “Here they are. These are the actual receptors.”
“I still don’t get it,” said Julie beginning to show her frustration.
“Well…here is an example…think of cars. There are Fords which could be considered a category of cars and then there is the Ford Escape which is the actual car. The receptors are like that. There are categories of receptors and actual receptors.” Doyle was pleased with his off the cuff analogy.
“So these are the receptors?” said Julie pointing to her notes.
“No, those are the categories. Remember we found the receptors on the other page in your notes,” said Doyle with a hint of frustration.
Doyle pointed to her notes and said, “Here, here, and here are the receptors. See…you have them written down.”
So for the take home test, question three, it says to describe three receptors. If I copy this from my notes which is what you wrote on the board then that will be correct?” said Julie.
“Well, I can’t tell you the answer to the question since this is a test and I have to be fair to the other students but you would need to answer thequestion in your own words,” said Doyle.
“But I’m so confused and you are not helping me!” said an angry Julie who then began to cry. “You are no help at all. I will just have to figure it out all by myself!” A few seconds later her tears turned to anger and she began to pout reminding Doyle of his daughter at age five. He thought he spotted her bottom lip turn outward. She sat, arms folded in a defensive pose.
What the hell is going on? Is this really happening? This person is a grown woman. I could understand this kind of behavior from a small child…but an adult?
“Perhaps we should move on to one of your other questions,” said Doyle hoping to divert the negative energy permeating the space around him. Doyle’s anger began to grow from deep within.
Julie’s pout morphed into a wry grin and she again began flipping the pages in her notebook.
“I don’t understand how the heart works,” she said.
“Well, do you have a more specific question?” said Doyle struggling to retain his anger. “I mean we did spend two hours in class going over the heart.”
“I’m just so confused,” said Julie. The tears began to well once again.
Doyle’s mind entertained the image of grabbing Julie by the back of the head and violently forcing her head inches from her notes while screaming, “THESE ARE RECEPTORS….AND…THESE ARE THE CATEGORIES….SEE…CATEGORIES…OF RECEPTORS!”
“I don’t understand the branical-seegalo,” she said sobbing.
“Do you mean the brachiocephalic artery?” said Doyle attempting to salvage the meeting.
“Yeah..the branical—seecalloid,” said Julie wiping tears from her face.
“Let’s practice saying it,” said Doyle who thought it prudent to engage in a valuable teaching moment.
“Repeat after me…Brake..ee..oh..seh…fal..ick,” he said being careful to slow his pronunciation so she could hear.
“Branicoid..seealik,” she replied while distorting her mouth as if struggling to annunciate each syllable.
“Brann…icoid…see…aliss,” she said. Doyle watched with disbelief as Julie’s mouth performed a contortion that reminded him of someone attempting to speak after a combination of mouth numbing Novocain and complete alcoholic intoxication. He remembered watching a documentary about a scientist who attempted to train chimpanzees to speak. Julie’s complete bastardization of the term was worse than the chimp’s pronunciation of “banana.”
Doyle began to indulge in thoughts of stopping by his favorite watering hole on the way home, a guilty pleasure that became more frequent as the semester progressed. Julie continued her attempts at mutilating the term beyond recognition.
“I just can’t say any of these terms!” said Julie, frustrated. “I can read them but I can’t say them. I really don’t see the point in learning to pronounce these anyway because the exams are all written.”
“True,” said Doyle. “What program are you in Julie?”
“Nursing,” she said.
“So you don’t think it useful to be able to pronounce the medical terms when working as a nurse?” said Doyle again reaching for a teaching moment.
“You are never any help!” she said, getting angrier. “How am I supposed to learn anything if you don’t tell me the answers?”
Doyle was happy to see another student waiting to ask a question. He excused himself and focused his attention on the other student. Julie shoved her papers into her backpack and stomped off in a huff.
Later, at the bar, Doyle’s liquid dinner helped to quell whatever lasting effects of his meeting with Julie ricocheted around the neurons in his brain. Soon the semester would end and the Julies would be gone, only to begin again in the endless college cycle with a new crop of Julies freshly hatched from the cogs of the education system’s Julie-egg producing machine.
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