The Difference Between the Greats and the Also-Rans
I have a student who has been angling for an extension. I think that he actually is sick or depressed or something. It doesn't matter--I'm happy to give him an extension.
What I am less happy about is the daily updates about the degree of his distress. And the course of his treatment. Why do I need to know? This young man has been to see a neuropath and a chiropractor and a neurologist (how is this different from a neuropath? I don't know. But I'm sure that I'll get an email in the next hour or so explaining it) and a psychiatrist and an osteopath.
Why do I need to hear all this? I ALREADY gave the kid his extension. Doesn't that give me a pass on hearing about the debilitating pain?
Here is the latest email (and remember, I have ALREADY GRANTED AN EXTENSION):
Dear God.
I love the inadvertantly-writing-in-German bit. It's a nice touch, simultaneously Victorian and Oliver Sacks-y. It's a wonderful detail, evoking a student so dedicated to finishing his essay on dramatic ironies in Racine that he jeopardizes his health to work on it, only to discover that his brain is so disordererd by illness that it resists by permitting him only to write in German.
Ok, but here's what would have made this detail truly transcendent: if he'd followed it with "And I don't even know German."
That, friends, is what separates the bush-league excuse-makers from the Hall of Famers.
What I am less happy about is the daily updates about the degree of his distress. And the course of his treatment. Why do I need to know? This young man has been to see a neuropath and a chiropractor and a neurologist (how is this different from a neuropath? I don't know. But I'm sure that I'll get an email in the next hour or so explaining it) and a psychiatrist and an osteopath.
Why do I need to hear all this? I ALREADY gave the kid his extension. Doesn't that give me a pass on hearing about the debilitating pain?
Here is the latest email (and remember, I have ALREADY GRANTED AN EXTENSION):
Dear Feemus,
As you know, I continue to suffer from this mysterious ailment. Since early childhood, my doctors have struggled to diagnose this difficult and variable illness. I have been in excruciating pain for the past several days--barely able to get out of bed and frequently in convulsions.
I have tried to work on my essay, but on account of my medication, I often find myself in a state of delirium. I wrote several pages of my essay, only to realize that I had been writing in German.
Please be patient as I work through this.
Sincerely,
Mr. Sicky
Dear God.
I love the inadvertantly-writing-in-German bit. It's a nice touch, simultaneously Victorian and Oliver Sacks-y. It's a wonderful detail, evoking a student so dedicated to finishing his essay on dramatic ironies in Racine that he jeopardizes his health to work on it, only to discover that his brain is so disordererd by illness that it resists by permitting him only to write in German.
Ok, but here's what would have made this detail truly transcendent: if he'd followed it with "And I don't even know German."
That, friends, is what separates the bush-league excuse-makers from the Hall of Famers.
posted by Feemus at
7:05 PM
4 Comments:
Once again demonstrating my theory that our planet is actually just one big mental hospital.
(Feemusif you are not making these up, I think you should consider publishing your collection.)
By
Anonymous, at 8:24 PM
I am really NOT making these up.
The coda to the inadvertant German story came today when I began relating the story to a colleague, who interrupted at the part about the neuropath to ask: "Did he say that he could only write in German?"
Apparently this affliction has affected all his work.
I should have just replied that he should just hand his paper in. I read German--no problem.
By
Feemus, at 5:03 PM
That's it. We're getting you a publisher.
By
Anonymous, at 5:16 PM
I don't think a publisher would believe that they're real!!!
So, the FINAL coda is this: this kid didn't come to class yesterday, and had a friend email me to say that he couldn't make it, that he was in the infirmary, that he was violently ill, etc. I saw the kid when I left my office at about 6:30 outside the library lighting a cigarette.
Now, as a former smoker, I understand that even violent illness doesn't necessarily mean that one doesn't want a cigarette, but THE LIBRARY?? Wouldn't you just go home?
I don't understand why they go to all this trouble to tell me such elaborate and bizarre stories.
By
Feemus, at 10:02 AM
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