Professor Daniels,
I hope this email finds you well on our first day back to campus. It seems Professor Rossfield has broken his leg and will have to undergo surgery. We’ve been able to distribute most of his classes but are left with Philosophy 101 at two p.m. and we’re hoping you’d be able to fill in for him being as you have a minor in this field.
Sincerely,
EJ Masen, Chair
I read and reread the email multiple times, trying to convince myself that this is some joke because surely there are more qualified candidates on staff who could teach this class. The only reason I have a minor in philosophy is because it was easy, and I like to argue with people. I almost decided on law school for my masters, but hacker school, again was easier.
Instead of emailing Mr. Masen back, I scroll through my contacts until I come to his name and call him. He picks up on the second ring. “Mr. Masen,” I say as I head toward my first class. “This is Jude Daniels. I’m calling about the email you sent me.”
“Oh yes, do you know which building Mr. Rossfield holds his class in?”
“See, that’s why I’m calling. It’s been years since I’ve done anything with the subject matter and feel like there is probably someone more qualified to take over while Mr. Rossfield is out.”
“Nonsense, you were at the top of our list for this class. The syllabus will be in your email within the hour.”
“Oh, okay,” I say, and Mr. Masen hangs up. “Fuck.”
When I reach my classroom, students are still filtering in. The strong smells of perfume, coffee, and the sour stench of liquor easily take over the room. “Good morning and welcome to Computer Architecture. I am Professor Daniels. You may call me Mr. Daniels if you prefer. I will answer to both. Throughout the semester we are going to learn the rules and methods that describe the functionality, organization, and implementation of computer systems. If you are not serious about computers, how they operate, what it takes to make them operate, then this class is not for you.” I take my syllabus and set it on the farthest desk from me and ask the student take one and pass it down.
“Participation is fifty percent of your grade. Homework assignments are due by midnight via email, one day after they are assigned. The lovely thing about email is, it’s time stamped. I do not accept late assignments—unless there is a valid excuse—and you only get two excuses per semester.” I walk back and forth in front of the class, looking each one in the eye as I speak.
“If you come to my class drunk or tired, you will get a zero for the day. I expect you to be bright eyed—”
“And bushy tailed, right Professor Daniels?”
I look for the voice and my body fills with dread. Stu Stewart sits dead middle with his hat on backward and a ripped T-shirt. Thankfully, I can’t see what he’s wearing on the bottom half, but if I had to guess, he has cut-off jean shorts and work boots.
“Mr. Stewart, didn’t expect to find you in my class.” I refrain from adding again to the end of my sentence.
“Ah, Mr. D, you failed me last semester.”
I can’t imagine why.
“Yes, well, if instructions are followed, everyone should pass.”
Starting with how I want to be addressed.
The rest of my classes go rather smoothly. Most of the students paid attention, many asked questions, a few asked what my office hours are, and a couple young women might have flirted. Good thing I’m a straight-lace-by-the-book sort of guy and won’t engage in even a harmless game of flirtation.
When I finally make it to Mr. Rossfield’s class, I’m a few minutes late because I stayed in my office trying to find any reason I could to get out of teaching this class. As soon as I opened the syllabus for this class, I groaned so loud I had to cover my mouth and quickly scramble to shut my office door. The last thing I needed was for a student or a colleague to walk by, hear me, and assume I’m doing something I shouldn’t be.
I walk in and stand at the podium, looking over the papers I printed out. “Good afternoon, I’m Professor Daniels, your philosophy professor. You are more than welcome to call me Jude. I usually teach computer science, but they needed someone at the last minute to fill in here. Just bear with me.” I repeat my actions from earlier and hand out the necessary papers. “I’m filling in for Mr. Rossfield while he attends to some personal issues. If you have him for 102 next semester, you’ll be happy to know he will be back.”
As I’m walking back to the podium a familiar face catches my eyes. A face I’d know anywhere. The sight of Laura Parrish has my steps faltering as I make my back to where all my notes are.