So my first week in the new program has elapsed quickly, and in many ways, I feel like I’m back in high school---and not in a good way.
(Prudential Disclaimer: the following is my opinion only. I am in no way speaking on behalf of the school, and any resemblance of individuals in my blog posts to actual people or things is purely coincidental. Engrish Comics is life filtered through my eyes, and let’s face it: that is in no way to be considered reality.)
The first day of classes, the first bit of evidence: ZIPPER BINDERS EVERYWHERE!!
That same day consisted of countless lectures on not texting in class, not skipping class, and scare tactic after scare tactic. “This is going to be VERY difficult work for you and you will have never-ending piles of homework. If you skip class you will be kicked out of the program. If you fail Anatomy, you will be kicked out of the program. If an armed intruder enters the building, lock the doors and crouch under your desks at the back of the room—failure to do so will get you kicked out of the program.” After thoroughly explaining how “easy” it would be for us to fail, they commence in holding our hand and walking us through every aspect of schooling, regurgitating the information out of our course manuals and failing to answer any questions that go beyond the printed material. In reality, I’m finding that 20-30 minutes of homework every evening is keeping me comfortable and caught-up.
After 30 minutes of class, the anatomy instructor stops mid-sentence and asks, “How are we all doing? Do we need to take a break to stand up and stretch?” Bitch, please.
Another instructor told us how much she “hates chasing people down to get their assignments.” Poor you. You hate it? So don’t do it. We have paid a lot of money to be there, if we choose not to participate and take an incomplete in your class, it’s not your problem. Maybe those people will learn a valuable lesson about getting shit done. Maybe they’ll become ADULTS.
Another instructor couldn’t answer the questions of a couple of students. The next day, she came back with this beauty, “So I did a bit of research last night, and Wikipedia says…” Wow.
Instructors aside, my fellow students aren’t exactly people I am going to be inviting to my wedding. The girls in the programs have already started to “clique-up” and are obviously confused by me, since I clearly don’t care to join their groups. Perhaps it is my contentedness to sit quietly and listen in class that is most confusing. In fact, I find myself choosing the opposite side of the room, because the girls sit in a group and whisper and giggle through most classes. I barely want to listen to the instructors, so obviously I’m less than enthused about all the Chatty Kathies behind me.
This afternoon, in our ethics class, a few students came in late, and asked the girl in front of me if they missed anything. Girl: “Just some retarded stuff about patient confidentiality.”
Yeah, just some retarded stuff about how to treat patient information so you don’t suffer IMMEDIATE TERMINATION from your job after you run your mouth about some patient details to your BFF in the hospital cafeteria. I’m SO GLAD she didn’t let this information distract her from the very important task of doodling her name on her binder, with a big #23 surrounded by basketballs and hearts. Maybe after you breach patient confidentiality and get kicked out of the program part-way through clinical, you can fall back on a career in basketball, #23.
There are a few lights in my day, though. A girl from Matt’s work is in one of the other programs, so for the first few weeks she will be in my core classes. And a few of the other MRT girls seems like they have their heads on straight. I hope they turn out to be decent. I could use an ally or two.