The favorite part of school for many students is the last week of classes in a semester. It’s not because we can smell freedom is only a week away, but rather, because it is Teacher Evaluation Week. It is where wrongs can be righted and we can write how we really feel. Thought your professor graduated with a PhD from Truck Driving School? Maybe you secretly thought the clothes your professor were made them look like Snooki when she has a bad day?* Perhaps you didn't appreciate all of the low grades you received on papers you began the night before they were due? Well, you'll never have another chance to tell them unless you sign up for a fake email account, and since almost no one is going to do that, Teacher Evaluation Week will have to suffice. As a bonus, they’ll never find out our true identities because we write with our left hands and use incomplete sentences. Genius. These are some of my more memorable.
Her daughter is a musician in the loosest sense of the word, but if anyone mentions her, they automatically get an A. If she hates you, you're screwed. She also has a son but she never actually mentions him. It shouldn't be this easy to get an A.
When he shows up to class, it's great. Unfortunately, his kids seem to be "sick" at least once a week. When I say that, I mean it is likely he is out partying at Taco Bell with a gentleman I shall call "Borski." He also seems to add an "S" to everyone's last name for some reason. He's a great teacher, but he definitely has some quirks.
I walked into class not knowing how to find the area of a triangle. You know who also walked in not knowing anything about math? My professor.
I couldn’t take it anymore. This professor was driving me insane so I drove to the market, bought a nice, ripe tomato and brought it to the next class. While she was talking, I held it in my hand. Oh how juicy it was, both the situation and the tomato. I prepared to throw it at her, but as I sat there, I couldn’t do it. You know how I know this was one of the worst classes I have ever taken? I didn’t throw it not because I couldn’t deal with the consequences, but because I had spent one whole dollar on that tomato, and I didn’t think she was worth the dollar. I ate that tomato and it tasted like shame.
My professor was like caviar, she was an acquired taste. I am referring to her teaching style, not her...well, you know.
I didn’t learn very much from this professor other than his opinion on why farts smell. Apparently, it’s so deaf people can enjoy them, too. Also, apparently Sniffilous is when two Eskimos rub noses. Luckily, he is an all-around good person, so I keep taking his classes. However, if the person reading this evaluation could please buy him a pair of nose hair clippers for Christmas, well, I wouldn’t complain.**
He sounds so excited all of the time. He’s talking about a chair and a building that houses said chair. I like him, but for whatever reason, whenever we have a class discussion about anything, it turns into an all-out war because everyone is pissed off. We don’t even know why we’re mad. It’s probably because of that blonde girl who keeps calling us all idiots. I’m not mad at her, though. She’s too attractive to be disliked.
She was hitting on me! She was actually hitting on me! Sweet pumpernickel pie there must be a rule against what just happened. No one winks like that anymore. I just signed up for more classes with her. I probably like the admittedly inappropriate attention. So, on balance, this is probably a positive review.
* Did you catch my sarcasm here? Snooki never has bad days. On the other hand, everyday that she is with Jionni and not me is a bad day for me.
** Alright, alright, so those weren’t the craziest things he said. He once told us that a dictator was the combination of a penis and a potato. Get it? Dic-tator. Clever. Troubling and potentially scarring for life, but clever.