You’re 32 years old. For heaven’s sake, go blow your nose; you’re disturbing the whole class. You can blow your nose on the toilet paper. Yes, really.

The class lasts for three hours. We take a short break in the middle. You’re not supposed to gather your things and go home then. We’re ALL tired. Also, we had two quizzes after you left. You’ll ask me when you can make them up, and I will say, “Never.”

Midterms are next week. You’re so far behind, nothing can help you now. I’d feel bad for you if you had a viable excuse for missing so much. As things stand, you’re so far behind, nothing can help you now.

The rest of us had a good evening.

You’ve got two toddlers, a broken leg, and a full-time job. You’ve never missed a class, you’ve done well on all the quizzes, your first essay was outstanding, your insight is wonderful, and your class participation is excellent. Thank you for being in my class.

When you knew that most of the objects in the night sky were named for ancient Roman gods and goddesses and heroes, you made me very happy. When you explained to the class why stars twinkle and planets don’t, I almost jumped up on the table and tap-danced in sheer blissful delight. How fortunate for you and the class that I’m far too fat to jump.

You’re in and out of rehab, you’re wearing a house arrest band around your ankle, CPS took your baby away, your arms are covered with track marks, your speech is interspersed with profanity, but after reading your first two essays, I think you’re going to make it. Keep on. And then keep on some more. You can do it.

Yes, the rest of us had a good evening. I love this class.

Mamacita, Scheiss Weekly