April 2005

Revenge is a dish best served cold.

My concentration in college was in film. But not like in Quentin Tarantino, guys-with-guns who curse a lot film, but like watching a fucking clock move for 15 minutes because it's "artistic" and "avant-garde" film. I hated every second of it. The only thing I liked about the major is that the frequent long and boring screenings gave me ample opportunity to fall asleep without anyone noticing, and since discussion was a large part of the grade I could easily listen to what other kids were babbling about and chime in with bullshit replies. But worst of all, the professors SUCKED.

One year, I had a professor who was not just a pompous prick (95% of the professors I have dealt with fell under that category), but also a complete fucking lunatic. And I had to spend 3 hours of my Friday afternoon with him for a whole semester.

The course was a mandatory elective for my major. Like all my other electives, the class roster was filled with pretentious tools who preferred to spend their weekends jerking each other off to Kurosawa, Godard, and other filmmakers instead of partying. Mixed in with them was maybe one "normal" guy as well, who was cool. I would spend every restroom break in these courses talking with the one other cool guy about how much "this class sucks". And boy, did we have alot to talk about for this one.

The professor, who shall be called "Professor Y" treated us with film screenings and lectures which ranged from psychotic (the theory of relativity as applied to when a fucking dead person takes control of your body), to delirious (analytics of writing literature while getting stoned out of your mind on mescaline vs. acid, LSD, and PCP) to just plain weird (theories on why Aliens only abduct people of certain geographic locations and social demographics), to just... WHY the fuck are you telling us this? (the time when him and his buddies got stoned out of their minds in college and wound up in jail before they came to).

He would spend at least an hour talking about each of these subjects, just ramble on and on and on. What the hell any of it had to do with the course curriculum? WHO KNOWS? He was as close to batshit insane as any person who has ever been employed by Higher Education. According to IMDB, the highlight of his life was co-writing the script for a movie no one ever gave a fuck about except for Alien/UFO conspiracy addicts and Area 51 nutjobs. And another thing, He Hated Me.

Every time I raised my hand, he gave a snarl of scorn and contempt. He saw me as a frat boy who was trying to corrupt his distorted vision of reality with my fascinations of "beer and pussy". He spoke out against my behavior and appearance several times. I was almost failing his course because I couldn't understand a fucking word he was talking about. I would ask the other normal guy in the class if he knew anything about it. His reply was always "Beats Me."

One time in particular though, Professor Y crossed the line. He had just finished the final details of the time he was stoned on acid in jail. He noticed that I was laughing harder and more profusely than the other students in the room. Then, he said it: "Why do you find this story so funny? You, out of all people. I'm sure you have a few druggy and drinky stories of your own, hiding under that red hat of yours. Why don't you share with us, frat boy?"

That does it. NO ONE fucking embarrasses me like that. In front of an entire class of people. Several of my classmates were laughing. A few were in shock. My face was red with anger. I wanted to stomp this psychotic motherfucker out so bad, and my adrenaline was pumping. But I restrained myself. Why did I restrain? Because I had already caused enough trouble during my college years. If I were to have any hope of graduating, I would have to get revenge on him mentally, not physically- by finding a hole or flaw in his logic, in his reasoning, in his teaching, and absolutely nail him in the worst way possible. A victory of the mind, rather than the fist.

And during the very last session of the course, I found that chance. I was on the verge of flunking the course. I had failed or gotten a D in almost every quiz, evaluation, paper, and project up to this point. A large part of our grade was based on a series of quizzes on our lectures and readings (which I did absolutely NONE of, they made about as much sense to me as Babylonian scripture).

I had noticed from the previous quizzes that Professor Y went over the answers directly after the quiz was done. The quiz ended, everyone passed their quizzes up, then we were all handed other people's quizzes and we graded them as Professor Y read the answers out loud. Just like in elementary school. Here is where I saw my opening, my shot at revenge. And as I had promised myself, I hit it hard! It was the feeling of a running back seeing a small hole and then breaking through the defense to go 70 yards for a touchdown. Or a sports gambler when he cashes in on the biggest upset of the century. I had found my way to story gold!

So here's how it played out. I sat in the very back of the classroom. The professor handed out the quizzes. Everyone began writing down their answers. Except for me. I pretended to be scribbling furiously. But in reality, my pen was clicked off, and nothing was appearing on the paper. Then, as Professor Y gave the signal for everyone to hand their quizzes up front, I covered my arms, with my blank quiz resting right underneath. Then, as the professor read off each answer, I filled it in on MY OWN quiz paper, with the illusion I was grading someone else's. FYI- I intentionally gave myself one problem wrong, just in case anyone suspected anything. Because even the dumbest kids know that no one gets 100% in college.

So a couple of days passed, and I waited and waited for that phone call from the dean or the expulsion letter delivered to my dorm door. It never came. But a very amazing Email did. And I will show it to you now, VERBATIM:

From: (Professor Y)
To: (Class Email Roster)
Subject: Quiz Results

"Hello all. Professor Y here. The results of your final quiz have just came in. And Scotty Dukes, of all people, recieved the highest mark in the class, with 95%. How do you like them apples?"

I spent the next 5 minutes in my dorm room screaming, pumping my fist, jumping for joy. The Joke is on YOU, motherfucker! It was because of my grade on that quiz, which counted, that I just barely passed that course, and ended up graduating on time. Who got the last laugh now? HUH. This man spent years, decades of his life talking about nothing but Aliens, ghosts, and all these bizarre fascinations, and he was employed by one of the country's top universities. Yet he possessed a grading flaw that even most kindergarten teachers would most likely catch. And I was there to totally nail him on it.

A week later I was at a random party when I ran into the only other normal kid in that class. He ran up to me and gave me a bro hug.

Dude: Scotty Dukes! Congratulations bro.

SD: Thanks alot man. Thanks for being so cool all semester.

Dude: You got it man! How the hell did you do it?

SD: You promise to keep a little secret?

Dude: Yeah, sure.

SD: I totally cheated on that motherfucker.

Dude: All right, bro! I promise. We all got your back for hangin' in there for so long. You are the man!

I was the bigger man, and I got a nice-looking degree on my wall to show for it.