I just got SCHOOLED!!

My pride is wounded!!! DANGGGG! Ok, I don’t know how to properly and accurately put this but… My professor today betttttttch slapped me with his WORDS! There, ok I said it. Gahhhh! It happened. And all I could do was stand there and take it like—not like a man—but like a crackhead at an intervention with some sprinklings around his mouth! The crackhead can’t say ishhhhh in defense!

My professor, who I would describe as sinister-looking with a crooked smile and jagged, lifeless teeth, believed it to be true that I had asked him to meet 15 minutes before class to look over my powerpoint. I had, in fact, asked him to quickly look over my presentation right before class; no specific time given ‘cuz that’s just how I roll. As soon as I arrived to my class (on-time, mind you), my professor’s yellow glazed eye slithered its gaze around to the front of the room. He then villainously descended upon his prey—me. What proceeded entirely, remains a blur, for good reasons. Guy, le prénom de mon professeur (fo’ reals!), spoke of irresponsibility, shame, and anger. A lot of anger. Now, at first I tried to correct his misunderstanding in the hope that he would see his wrongdoings. Yeah, that turned out to be a mistake. Les Français ne bougent jamais! After my presentation, Guy let looooooose his reign of intellectual arrogance upon my vulnerable position at the head of the class. My pronunciation errors, which extended to the faint sound of the letter “d” at the end of a word, seemed criminal to him. Projecting to the class, he escalated my faults—only mine, ignoring my partner’s—by declaring it nearly impossible to utter such offensively incorrect French. Until I, he seethed, lowered the bar of grammatical standards.

Yeahhhhh it burned. Guy: 1. Me: 0. Until next week, old man!