I kind of liked being an undergrad at a massive state university. I was free to do my own thing; while there was a path to graduation, so many classes were available that I had a great deal of flexibility in choosing which ones to take. If I liked a professor, I could get to know him; if I didn't like the prof, I could disappear into the herd of students.

Last week, in my Wednesday class the professor recommended that we attend a conference being given Thursday. I skipped, to do work for my Thursday night class.

So this week, we meet again, and the professor says "Well, I spent about three hours at the conference, and didn't see any of you. Did anyone show up later, after I'd left?" There was an embarrassed silence among the dozen students in my seminar.

"Well, at first I was irritated," said the professor. "Then I decided you all must have been home doing academic work. So that's OK. Also, I left early because the conference was interdisciplinary, and it was becoming clear that, shall we say, the literary criticism people engage with the past in a very… ah … different manner than historians."

"Anyway, there's another seminar being given Friday, on cultural assimilation. I'm sure Boviate's going, he's in Doctor G_'s class. The rest of you might be interested too!"

And that last paragraph was what freaked me out a little. Because I'd never discussed my other classes with this prof– so she knew that I was in there because she and Dr. G_ have been talking about their students. There are less than thirty new grad students this year, so we're easily kept track of, but it makes me miss my protective anonymity.

Posted by: Boviate at 11:29 AM | No Comments | Add Comment
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