Back when I was in art school, I served two semesters of hard time in Dr. McDermott’s ‘art in the dark’ (art history) class. I both loathed and loved that class; it was so amazingly hard and fascinating at the same time. McDermott was thoroughly convinced that you could not learn the history of art without learning the history of the world–so he crammed two hours of lecture into one class period every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. When I got an A in the first semester course, I knew I had really earned it.
One of the things McDermott would do to incentivize attendance and punctuality (and punish those who had yet to develop those qualities) was to give an attendance quiz. He would hawkishly watch the clock until the precise stroke of 8, and then instruct those present to write their name on a piece of paper and hand it to the right to be collected.
One morning seconds after we had passed our papers in, the girl who sat next to me shambled to her seat.
“Dr. McDermott, can I hand in my quiz?”
“No, you may not; the criteria for an attendance quiz is to be present and on time.”
“So it’s like I’m not even here?”
“Correct.”
So she angrily grabbed her things and walked out. Class continued.
I guess she thought she made her point, but really it was her loss: we all took 6-10 pages of handwritten notes each class period over the in-class lecture–testable information not available in the 40 lb textbook.
I’ve heard no one has less sympathy for smokers than ex-smokers; I believe it. I used to be chronically late to everything. Maybe it was Dr. McDermott that helped me break that filthy habit.
I drove 30 miles to park 6 blocks away so I could walk uphill to the far side of the campus and I learned to make it on time.
Consequently, I had no pity for her.
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