Prof. Lifeless

So my posting schedule got a little funky. I was aiming for one a day, but that fell through. Oops. I'll have something substantial tomorrow evening, when I hadn't been occupied all day.

Earlier I had an overhanging cloud of annoyance. When the people I pay money to (indirectly, by the time the school's had it's way with my bank account) don't take a course seriously, how can I be expected to return the favor? The one in question is brand new, and teaches a generic lab course. Normally I'd care minimally about someone's teaching style, everyone's got a unique thing that's all their own. This guy doesn't seem to have one at all.

He'll sit at the front of the class in a ball cap advertising another college he teaches at, half hungover and hardly interested. He'll scribble some equations on the board, put out a sign-in sheet, and look lifeless for the duration of the period. This seems like a fantastic idea to most, but if I'm paying for this class I'd like it to be worth the hundreds of dollars I'm being robbed of.

This said, the professor is a friendly enough man, who seems to care enough about the students to pull them to the side when they've missed many labs (though this might only make his job easier, should they drop the course), and I'm not an ideal student in this class. I show to this class late and leave early, knowing that I can get the work done just as easily at home as I could sitting on a lab stool at a counter disproportionate to the chair. The apparatuses are seldom used, and the measurements can be taken in ten minutes' time. I don't waste his time, and he doesn't waste mine. We have a silent understanding, as long as my name is signed in my handwriting.

I don't remember this guy's name (not that I'd post it anyway, as this might constitute slander/liable, even if it's true), but that might be the best way around this. He will not leave a lasting impression in my mind down the line. He will not have a name there. He will go to the special place in my heart where I keep the undesirables and un-notables of my memory. Limbo for the mental imprints, I suppose: a place to go when you barely exist, in a place where nothing really exists.