A few months ago, I started teaching culture, cross-cultural comparison, and intercultural communication to privileged (mainly white, mainly male) management students. Before I had my first day, I had expected excited, motivated students eager to learn about cultures and how to communicate with business partners around the globe.
I’m not sure why I had these expectations. I didn’t expect every single student to be excited. That never happens—even though most of my students are engaged and motivated, I always have a few who aren’t. And that’s okay.
But I wasn’t prepared for what was going to happen. More than thirty students, almost none of them interested at all. Everyone used their laptops and/or tablets—most of them for their private entertainment. They were sitting through—enduring!—the course they had to attend.
I subsequently learned that every student has to choose a foreign language or my course. And that most students who choose my course choose it as a less laborious alternative to learning a new language. Yay me.
But the best part? Teenage hormones that forgot to leave my students’ bodies. ‘Penetration’—haha. It’s so cool and smart and funny to position my penis in front of your face while you are still sitting at your desk—haha.
Grading papers was my final ‘highlight’ in this entire experience. Aside from the few (sometimes even very) good papers, most were abysmal. In most cases, I expected this outcome. (If you are physically and/or mentally absent or watch movies during class, you won’t get a thing.) But guess who didn’t? The students who complained about their final grades.
So. I’m looking forward to the next round of papers …
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