Pre-Med at TV Commercial University

If you’re a teacher (or even a halfway decent student), then you’re well aware that there are some people that think if they pay tuition, you owe them an A. I’ve been teaching college-level writing for almost nine years, and it seems as if every semester, there’s someone looking for an academic handout.

Over the years, I’ve kept a journal of such events because as sad as they are, they’re funny as well. If you don’t laugh, you’ll cry, so prepare to laugh.

A few years ago, I had a student who claimed to be Pre-Med. At the time, I didn’t quite know how to take that information. After all, I taught at one of those colleges they advertise on TV. You know the ones: flashy, cheesy skits in the buy-a-used-car, mattress blowout voice. People break out into song about determination and the College of Automation and sing S-U-C-C-E-S-S success because of the outstanding academic achievement they will receive through these programs. (Think of a jingle to these lyrics: I’m tired of flipping burgers and frying fries. I finally got down and realized that to be a success takes determination; that’s why I'm enrolling at the College of Automation.)

These colleges boast spectacular, high-paying, sophisticated careers to individuals who can earn their degrees in half the time. Then they suck the money right out of the suckers who enroll.

Mid-semester one fall term, Miss Pre-Med emailed me in a tizzy with the typical I've-been-blowing-off-your-class-but-please-give-me-a-B-anyway request—an email I received right after I read her discussion board posts (which she failed to understand that I read). Instead of discussing the weekly topic, she complained to her classmates about my ridiculous standards and unfair treatment of her. That’s right. Instead of doing her assignment, she bitched about the teacher who’d be grading it.

Suddenly there I stood in the way of her achieving her med-school dreams.

“I need an A in this course. I’m Pre-Med” she whined.

“Why would I let her give me a pap smear if she can't turn in her homework on time?” I wondered.

A couple weeks later, Miss Pre-Med sent me a frantic email that accused me of assigning a paper last minute. She demanded that I give the class an extension because nobody knew about it and they all had other classes besides mine and this was “really short notice” and boo hoo hoo.

After reviewing the rudely and poorly constructed, error-ridden rant, I determined that she asked about an assignment that I’d never assigned. No wonder nobody knew about it: It didn’t exist.

As a teacher and a professional, I am obligated to respond tactfully regardless of how stupid and ridiculous the complaints. But the imagined response and the actual are two different things. So just like John Dorian from Scrubs, I imagined . . .

Dear Mrs. Pre-Med:
You are a whining, complaining little brat. Did it occur to you that no one knew about this assignment because you conjured it up in your dim-witted skull?

I'm sorry that the burden of your other classes prevents you from reading for an hour a week. It’s such a pity that those two-page papers every other week are such an inconvenience. I know how difficult it is to take ten-question quizzes designed with easy answers to anyone who reads the material. And the effort it takes to participate in fifteen-minute online discussions during weeks class doesn’t meet—what a burden on your intellect.

It is my fault that you don't attend class or complete assignments. I will give you an A because you're Miss Pre-Med.

Life will be so much simpler when you're in medical school.

Sincerely,
Your disgruntled instructor

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