What's my prof's name?
OK, this is another college story. I find it amusing and so did at least a few others, so I thought I'd commit it to electrons before senility relegated it to being lost forever.
When I attended Georgia Tech (in the mid-to-late 80s, when dinosaurs roamed the earth), we were on the quarter system. I only clarify that for those who know that it's now on the semester system -- "semester" being derived from a Latin word that means "one-third, but not really".
A little more background: At that time, a normal course load was 15 credit hours. 12 or more meant you were full-time, and full-time students paid the same amount regardless of how many hours they took. Part-time students (fewer than 12 hours) paid on a "per hour" basis.
Georgia Tech is a state school, so out-of-state students paid substantially more than in-state students, nearly triple, if memory serves correctly. Such was the case for one of my housemates, Ken, who had 26 hours left to graduate, going into spring quarter of 1985.
Ken wanted to graduate at the end of summer quarter, and in 1985, much federal student aid (on which he was reliant) was cut for summer students (I guess no congressmen had kids going to school in the summer). This meant that he would have to pay out-of-pocket for whatever he took in the summer. So he decided to minimize that by maximing what he took in the spring. Really maximize -- he took the absolute limit -- 23 credit hours. (Remember, 15 was average. 18-19 was heavy. 20 was ludicrous.)
Ken was an architecture major and 5 of the 23 hours was his senior project. Architecture senior projects are massively time-consuming, in and of themselves. Those in engineering majors had it easy compartively. Ken was working constantly. The only breaks he took were for church, meals, and sleep. The rest of the guys in our house set up a study schedule: "You'll stay up late with Ken tonight; I'll get up early with him tomorrow."
Remember when I mentioned sleep? Ken sometimes skipped classes, just to grab some more sleep. Case in point, he managed to get in an Electrical Engineering seminar class. It met once a week for an hour and featured a guest speaker each week. Just show up all 10 weeks and you get an A. Ken got a B. (Starting the next quarter, that class was closed to non-EE majors. Can't help but wonder if Ken had a hand in that.)
Another class he skipped a lot was introductory French. (He had a lot of electives) He knew enough French already to be able to afford skipping the class, but when it came time to take the final, he had a quandry. For the class he was in, there were four sections (each with a different professor). All four finals were at the same time, but one was on the opposite end of campus from the others, and Ken had skipped class so much, that he didn't remember his prof's name (and hence, didn't know which final to go to).
He decided to swallow his pride and call the School of Modern Languages and just ask. Back then, all offices on campus had an 894 prefix in the phone number, and all dorms had a 676 prefix. Because of the consistency, the campus directory only printed the remaining four digits. Unfortunately, Ken goofed. Meaning to dial 894-xxxx, he dialed 676-xxxx. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
When I attended Georgia Tech (in the mid-to-late 80s, when dinosaurs roamed the earth), we were on the quarter system. I only clarify that for those who know that it's now on the semester system -- "semester" being derived from a Latin word that means "one-third, but not really".
A little more background: At that time, a normal course load was 15 credit hours. 12 or more meant you were full-time, and full-time students paid the same amount regardless of how many hours they took. Part-time students (fewer than 12 hours) paid on a "per hour" basis.
Georgia Tech is a state school, so out-of-state students paid substantially more than in-state students, nearly triple, if memory serves correctly. Such was the case for one of my housemates, Ken, who had 26 hours left to graduate, going into spring quarter of 1985.
Ken wanted to graduate at the end of summer quarter, and in 1985, much federal student aid (on which he was reliant) was cut for summer students (I guess no congressmen had kids going to school in the summer). This meant that he would have to pay out-of-pocket for whatever he took in the summer. So he decided to minimize that by maximing what he took in the spring. Really maximize -- he took the absolute limit -- 23 credit hours. (Remember, 15 was average. 18-19 was heavy. 20 was ludicrous.)
Ken was an architecture major and 5 of the 23 hours was his senior project. Architecture senior projects are massively time-consuming, in and of themselves. Those in engineering majors had it easy compartively. Ken was working constantly. The only breaks he took were for church, meals, and sleep. The rest of the guys in our house set up a study schedule: "You'll stay up late with Ken tonight; I'll get up early with him tomorrow."
Remember when I mentioned sleep? Ken sometimes skipped classes, just to grab some more sleep. Case in point, he managed to get in an Electrical Engineering seminar class. It met once a week for an hour and featured a guest speaker each week. Just show up all 10 weeks and you get an A. Ken got a B. (Starting the next quarter, that class was closed to non-EE majors. Can't help but wonder if Ken had a hand in that.)
Another class he skipped a lot was introductory French. (He had a lot of electives) He knew enough French already to be able to afford skipping the class, but when it came time to take the final, he had a quandry. For the class he was in, there were four sections (each with a different professor). All four finals were at the same time, but one was on the opposite end of campus from the others, and Ken had skipped class so much, that he didn't remember his prof's name (and hence, didn't know which final to go to).
He decided to swallow his pride and call the School of Modern Languages and just ask. Back then, all offices on campus had an 894 prefix in the phone number, and all dorms had a 676 prefix. Because of the consistency, the campus directory only printed the remaining four digits. Unfortunately, Ken goofed. Meaning to dial 894-xxxx, he dialed 676-xxxx. The ensuing conversation went something like this:
Yeah, I was wondering if you could tell me my French prof's name.Look at this from the perspective of the poor guy in the dorm room. You're up to your eyeballs, studying for finals, and some guy calls you to quiz you on his professor's name. I wonder if that guy ever graduated....
Uhhh, no.
Well, I know it's either Smith or Jones, but I'm not sure which it is.
I don't know.
Well, he's short, has a beard, wears a beret a lot.
I don't know.
Isn't this the School of Modern Languages?
No, it's Caldwell 217.
Oh......um..........sorry
posted by Brendt @ 10:37 PM
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