Kooky Professors

Speaking of kooky poli sci professors and sitting in the front of class, I remember a favorite story from my days at CSUN years ago. My dad, see, was a poli sci prof while I was a coed there. I took two of his classes. Naturally. He was a great prof. No, really, he was. I can remember around registration time, you could hear whispers in the hallways of the poli sci department: Take Beller, he's the best. So, yes, I took his class. We secretly agreed to change my last name for the class, and none of the students knew my undercover identity.

Those were my triathlon days, and my boyfriend and I rode our bikes to campus. I swam at school. One semester I took Poli Sci 156, and swam before class. The chlorine from the pool always made my nose run terribly. It was so annoying, that watery distraction tickling my upper lip, as I would sit in rapt attention to Dr. Beller's colorfully animated lectures, sucking up his profound wisdom like a dry loofah.

At the end of every week, we would always take our suits home to wash the chlorine out. I always wrapped mine in my scratchy white gym towel, and carried it with me tied to my backpack until I got home. During one lecture, my runny nose was particularly pestilent. I was sniffling and snorting and it wasn't doing any good; the water was running like a busted faucet. It was so annoying. Still, I refused to budge from my front-row perch to escape to the hallway, where I might blow the chloriney liquid away for good. Unable to control the leaky Kohler that was my nose, I desperately grabbed my towel and wiped, thus averting a disastrous scene.

That was it. Silly me. Dr. Beller--Dad--in a great show of drama, stopped his lecture mid-sentence, his emphatically gesturing arms suddenly frozen. He made a dramatic, sweeping motion to turn and glare at me. "Good god!" he exclaimed incredulously. "Did you just wipe your nose with that towel?!"

I stared back at him, stunned, my face turning a hot shade of burgundy. The entire class gasped in unison, horrified. "Ohhh! Dr. Bellerrrrr!" they cried. How mean!

I got an "A" in class. And no, I didn't cheat. It was all scan-trons.

You are so inquisitive, dear reader,

I can read your mind. What makes her think she is a Writer? Okay, you outed me. Really, I’m a Loser. But I’m trying to change; really, I am. I lost my job in January 2008, and couldn’t find another one, that’s how this all started. Yup, I'm one of those ones who slept in her car for six months. And then I thought, “Why the hell am I doing this, and where am I going, anyway?” Fuck this, I paid my taxes, I want some of my share. And here I am now, naked, in front of you. Back in school; trying to grow up, do something with my brain. Which is huge, see, because of my amazing track record: a one-time high school drop-out and a two-time college drop-out.

It’s been a thousand years since I've been in school. And what an experience last semester! I could write a book about it, and it would go something like this: Penniless, jobless for six months, graduated from the car to sleeping on a friend’s couch, thankful she was feeding me, hoping “they” didn’t repo my car, petitioning for financial aid to pay for my classes, unable buy my texts. (Yes, "they" said I wasn't eligible for financial aid because I made too much money the previous year -- no matter that I'm sleeping in my car.)

Eventually, I figured out that all my books, except a couple, were available at the public library, but I had to request them from other branches -- an inter-library transfer. Had to wait more, as the semester ticked on. I finally got the library books, just as I was ready to drop out of my favorite class, Creative Writing (the only books the library didn't have). The worker-bees in the college book store must’ve thought I was dotty, because for a bit I was going in there, in stealth mode, and sneaking a read, trying to smuggle as much information as I could, from a five-minute skimming, once or twice a week. No, I didn't drop out of Creative Writing.

Eventually, on a referral from the Learning Resource Center (I started tutoring English there in October, but had to wait until November for my $280-dollar-monthly paycheck -- hell, that doesn't even cover my car payment), I got a private tutoring gig with a special needs kid who's home-schooling, worth sixty bucks a week. So in the sixth week of classes, I bought that one text. And a Starbucks Mocha. And a bottle of wine. As I explain myself, it occurs to me that the whole thing is kind of hilarious: How To Be a College Student on Zero Dollars Down (with a bonus section on How to Steal Fountain Drinks from the Cafeteria), by Michele Beller. By the way, I finally got financial aid, halfway through the semester.

That's enough for today, I'm tired now. I'll tell you the rest later.