Page 2/The Battalion/Wednesday, April 13, 1988
Opinion
Professors are the ones really in contro
John
MacDougall
It’s funny how
much control our
professors and in
structors have
over our futures
— especially as we
approach gradua
tion. I am re
minded of this as I
listen to the woes
of my friends who
are sweating out
graduation. I
know firsthand just how strong a teach
er’s hold on you can be.
My story begins a few years ago dur
ing the last semester of my senior year
as a T-sip. I had been putting off taking
a required course of tbe dubious title
Microeconomic Theory for two and a
half years. I knew I was in trouble my
first day of class when I found out that
our instructor, a young guy (I shall call
him Dr. X), had gotten his Ph.D four
years ago from Texas A&M. He was a
self-admitted asshole, and as his stu
dents and I will attest, a damn good tea
cher — the kind of guy who promotes
love/hate relationships with his students.
Dr. X subscribed to the John House
man school of thought when it came to
teaching economics. He felt that his job
was to teach you, rather than to make
you like him. Either you came to class
prepared or you faced a terrorizing fu
sillade of questions. Dr. X was a quirky
guy too. He absolutely detested yawning
in his classroom. He made it clear to us
at the beginning of the semester that
any student caught yawning without
covering his mouth wars dead meat. “I
don’t want to look at the insides of yo’
tonsils,” he’d say with a long Southern
drawl (I think he was from W. Virginia).
I managed to maintain a solid “B” av
erage for most of the term and was hap
pily looking forward to taking a job
working for a newspaper in Boston al
ter graduation. Four years of worrying
about making the grade was drawing to
a close. It was time for this bird to fly
from his nest to financial freedom.
Then my worst nightmare came true.
We were scheduled for a grueling
two-hour nighttime test. I had studied
diligiently at home until about a half-
hour before test time. I packed my cal
culator and pencils and headed off to
class. When I got there the classroom
was empty. My heart sunk. 1 then re
membered that he had changed the
classroom but I didn’t recall the room
number. For about 15 minutes I ran up
and down the empty halls of the busi
ness building in search of my class. Not
finding anything, I suddenly had the
revelation that I was in deep doo-doo.
The University of Texas has about 500
classrooms scattered over 40 acres, so
the likelihood of happening upon the
right room was nil. So I decided to cut
my losses.
My mind began to work like a per
sonal injury lawyer on a sinking ship. To
prove I made a sincere effort to take the
test, I ran down to the police station to
get an affidavit that 1 was there during
test time. Then I rilshed to a payphone,
got my teacher’s number from informa
tion and quickly dialed. No answer.
I went home in total despair. The
next day I called his office early in the
morning and told him my story. He
didn’t seem to believe it. He said he and
his wife were home all night yesterday
and they never got a phone call. He told
me to talk to him after class in the af
ternoon. As I heard the terminating
click on the other end of the line, I
thought to myself “Maybe this is God’s
way of telling me I’m not living a clean
life. Or maybe a mortal enemy is stick
ing pins in a voodoo doll with my lik
eness.”
Whatever the case, I was in serious
trouble. I regretted sending out gradua
tion announcements to my relatives a
week before, accepting a job or getting a
new VISA card.
I went to class the next day feeling as
if I would blow chunks on my high-tops
any minute. About 60 students showed
up (maybe word had gotten out that Dr.
X was going to feed a student to the li
ons). The instructor opened up class by
telling the students in a half-sarcastic
tone what I had told him last night. Fur
thermore, he told them that he was
home all night and never received a
phone call, which didn’t lend much cre-
dance to my story. To make matters
worse, he reminded everyone that the
class was held in the first floor of the
business building. He suggested that
whomever it was that missed the test (he
didn’t know me by face) should keep
quiet while the class voted on what he
should do with me.
The facts of the case were,grossly
slanted in favor of the prosecution. The
prevalent sentiment of students was
thumbs down. Some students com
mented that the whole problem was my
own stupid fault, and I shouldn’t be al
lowed to slide. A few kind souls spoke
up. One guy said, “Look, the guy is
about to graduate and he said he looked
for the classroom and he said he tried to
call you. Why don’t you let him slide?"
Yea!
The teacher ended the debate by de
claring that he wasn’t going to decide
now but was inclined to give me a goose
egg (the course syllabus,.whichisaluI
the law of last resort, stated iliai
makeups would be given untetlj
was a death in the family ofai
ing illness and plenty of warning),||
ironic twist, he told class memberst
he f elt sorry in a way for the poor)!
because he couldn’t imagine
pening to a more unsympathelicte»]|
(he was a free-market type whobI
handouts).
Af ter class I went to his officefoti
tencing. 1 le asked me how I maid
get as f ar as I did in school beings«jI
bo/o. 1 honestly didn’t knoww
1 could have told him that I was an
ors student but that would
set him off. After a momenfsln
lion, he told me that, againsthis
judgment, he was going to letmt
1 hen he yelled “Get the helloutofi
office.”
1 felt like a death row inmateij
sentence is commuted ashe'ssirai
into an ele< trie chair. Later thatiiigi
1 was sipping a longneck at theHA
the Wall bar, 1 reflected on how ten
my f reedom really is.
John XincDougall is a graduateshi
in the MBA program and a coins
for The Battalion.
Letting the ladies go first
is a strange thing to do
Mike
Royko
The elevator
door opened and
the tiresome ritual
began.
Those of the
m ale p e r s u a s i o n
stepped slightly to
the side and just
stood there.
Those of the fe
male persuasion
leaned tentatively
forward until they
were sure we weren’t going to move.
Finally, one of them bolted into tbe
elevator, followed by the others. We
went next. But after all the hesitating,
the door began to close and one of us
had to bang it back open to get aboard.
The elevator went down and at the
first floor the door opened. The ritual
was repeated. The males stood as if fro
zen until a female got off, followed by
the others. Then tfie rest of us
scrambled out before the door closed.
Why do men do it? W r hy do I do it?
Why do we believe that we must let fe
males get on and off elevators before we
do?
It has been years since the historic
first public bra-burning. Since then,
women have risen to high public of fice,
become major corporate executives and
now work as equals in most professions
and many trades.
True, many inequities remain. But
even the most hard-nosed of feminists
must concede that during the past two
decades, great strides have been made. I
mean, I know dozens of women who
swear better than me.
Yet, we persist in the elevator ritual,
the opening-the-door-for-them ritual,
the first-in-the-cab ritual, the stand-up-
when-they-get-to-the-restaurant-table
ritual, the help-them-on-with-their-coat
ritual, the shake-hands-only-if-they-of-
fer-to-first ritual, and many others.
Why shouldn’t I get on or off the el
evator first if I’m closest to the door. It
would be more orderly and result in less
emotional stress brought on by those
moments of indecision.
Even worse, on the few occasions that
I’ve done it — bolting on or off the el
evator with a devil-may-care attitude —
why do I immediately feel guilty and
embarrassed, fearing that the females
behind me are thinking: “What a boor.”
Seeking answers to these questions, I
asked a female executive why women
expect to get on and off elevators first.
“We don’t expect it,” she snapped-
“In fact, it infuriates me.”
Then why do you do it?
“We don’t do it. You do it. It’s your
fault. You stand there like bunch of
wimps. So if we don’t break the logjam
and get off first, we’ll be riding the
damn thing all day.”
You mean you don’t see this as being
a courtesy required of men?
“Of "course not. Who' the hell cares
who gets ofTan elevator first, unless it’s
on fire. And I don’t need a man to open
a door for me or help me on with my
coat. I’ve been opening doors and put
ting on my own clothes as long as they
have. And when they jump up at a res
taurant table, one of them usually hits
the table with his leg and slops water all
over the place.”
Then why do we do these things?
“How do I know? You’re the ones
who are doing it. We wish you’d stop.”
You won’t think we’re boors?
“Of course not. If anything, we’ll re
spect you for treating us as equals and
being enlightened.”
I am always seeking enlightment in
this foggy world. But the question still
remained: Why do we do it?
So I put that question to the eminent
psychiatrist, Dr. I.M. Kooky.
“If I may summarize your question
about elevators and doors and cars,” he
said, “what you seem to be asking me is
why do we continue to abide by the out
moded tradition of ‘ladies first,’ is that
not correct?”
Yes. Is it because we are sub
consciously patronizing them, treating
them as weaker or lesser creatures?
“Possibly. But I believe that the pri
mary psychological reason for our be
havior is that by letting them go first, we
get a real good look at their legs and
their bottoms. I’m a leg and bottom guy,
you know. And boy, oh, boy, when you
open a car door to let one of them out,
you can sometimes get a glimpse of
thigh.”
That’s why we do it, in order to gawk
and leer?
“I don’t know about you, but that’s
why 1 do it. I always help them on with
their coats because it gives me a chance
to get a sniff of their perfume. A real
turn-on. I’ll tell you.”
Doctor, I am shocked and disgusted.
“You are? Then I’ll tell you some
thing. You ought to go see a pyschia-
trist.”
Copyright 1987, Tribune Media Services, Inc.
pi,i
_ tender as mans love
mi^htbeforamaid,
Or children's love be
ibr their mums.
There's no tenderer love
Than the Presidents love
For all his unscrupulous chums
Mail Call
Sick of us versus us
EDITOR,
I’d like to know just who the hell Mike Freeman thinks
he is. How many games did you say you went to? I too have
been to a good number of A&M’s home baseball games,
and I’ve seen members of the corps all over this place.
Maybe not as an entire unit and maybe not during the
week, but they have been there. A simple explanation for
this? They are busy both during the week and on the week
end (as are many other Aggies who might have shown up
for the rare occasion of playing the No. 1 ranked team
with a good chance of beating it). In spite of the busy
schedule members of the corps face every day, the entire
corps shows up for a very important game for the baseball
team to give its support.
What happens? The Corps is criticized for it. This
leads me to ask a simple question: why do students criticize
the Corps of Cadets? Maybe non-corps members don’t re
alize how hard it is to be a part of the corps and are jealous
of the attention the corps gets. Maybe the existence of the
corps hurts the “macho-ness” of non-corps, striking up
more jealousy. Regardless of this, I would like an explana
tion for the criticism of a group that brings attention to bur
university and sets us apart from other universities. An or
ganization consisting of the Fightin’ Texas Aggie Bij
the Ross Volunteers, Parson’s Mounted Cavalry, and ml
othe fine groups.
However, the main reason 1 am writing is to say
am tired non-Aggies attacking Aggies. No matterwtioij
the Corps of Cadets, SAA, The Ihutnlion staff memkf I
any one else. Opinions are great because the increast 1
awareness of the world around us. Competitive rivalrl
great because it forces us to do our best. Attacking!
corps for supporting the baseball team and vandalizing!
SAA shack do not fit into these categories.
Ags, its time for some school spirit. I’d like to
first to apologize for attacking another Aggie. I’n
that 1 had to use your letter as an example Mike.No*I
fense.
Beat the hell outta t.u.!!!
(Not each cither!)
Russell H. Johnston ’91
Letters to the editor should not exceed 300 words in length. The ditonA''
serves the right to edit letters for style and length, hut will makentrji
maintain the author's intent. Each letter must be signed and mustiiicliA 11 '
sification, address and telephone number of the writer.
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