Spelling Privilege

Going to a private school is really cool. You get to do things like call your professor by their first names, have 7 people in your class, take classes with titles like "Modern British Literature Composition and it's Contemporary Effects on The Political Relations of 3rd World Countries." That's not really a class, but there are some pretty odd classes offered at Willamette University. What do you do with odd classes? Find EXTREMELY ODD professors to teach them!

What if there are no more odd professors? Grab a phonebook, ask your friend to tell you their favorite letter, run your finger up and down the "F" section, stop on a count of 3, then invite that person to teach a class at your university, and charge students 47,000 dollars a year to pretend to sit in said class and listen.

I mean, this isn't a specific example, I swear, but as of right now...it seems apparent that this is exactly how some of my professors were hired.

For example, Sociology 131 is such an insighftul class, that it has provoked such discussion along the lines of "oppression" and "stereotypes." According to 3/4 of the class, we are all oppressed, upper middle class white-kids. Usually, those words do not go together in the same sentence unless the sentence is as follows:

"Upper middle class white people that go to Willamette University are not oppressed."

But, if you're in Sociology 131, your sentence would look something more like this:

"Um, professor? You know how when you're in line at Safeway, and they ask you for a donation to like, I don't know, Breast Cancer Awareness or something? Yeah, well, the lady asked me OUT LOUD instead of just pointing at the screen, and I was OFFENDED! I mean...how insulting! I said no, and she stared me down because I have nice shoes so she thinks I am rich."

Life is so hard. But seriously...this would be bad enough if the professor was like, "Yeah it can be frusturating when you feel that people assume you have more financial priveledge than you do, but realistically, she probably asks EVERYONE that, so it's probably not a big deal."

Noooo, noooo, no. Instead, the professor replies;

"Oh my god, something like that totally happened to me too!"

She proceeded to go into great detail about how one time she wore all black to the Oregon Health Services office and the lady who distributes food-stamps gave her poor service because she thought she was gothic, uneducated and lazy.

The course title is Sociology 131, but really it's just an hour of every day that every person who has far more opportunities than they realize can come to class and talk about how people aren't nice to me if I am not smiling and wearing nice clothes.

The proverbial cherry on top---one time, our professor was asked to go into furhter detail about the discussion we were having about the failed-bombing in downtown Portland over Christmas Break.

"Um, I don't know. I don't really like to stick my nose in other people's business."

Oh. Good.

Is it ironic that I just wrote several paragraphs complaining about people who complain? Yes. Is it ironic that while reading this, you are thinking 'Sean is a whiney brat' but you are STILL reading!? YES! Now, pay attention.

Another cool thing about going to a private school is that it is ridiculously expensive, so you get to do work study. I do work study at Richmond Elementary. If you've ever had a problem with an over-abundance of self-confidence, I highly suggest walking into a 3rd grade classroom. Working at Richmond Elementary is the most humbling experience I have ever had. And when I say humbling, I don't mean it in the way of putting things in perspective, I mean it in the way that "Oh my god, these kids are brutal and my borderline non-existent self confidence is completely shot by their unintentional jabs at my ego."

Upon first entrance, you will hear things like "You are so tall! But my dad is taller, and he can grow a beard! You just grow yours on your neck!"

That's not my beard, that's a shadow. But, thanks, 9-year-old boy who is better at insults than I am.

"What happened to your foot? You are walking weird."
"Do you play for The University of Oregon? Oh...what's 'Willamette'?"

"How many points did you score?"

I scored 21, but we lost.

"How many did they score?"

115.

"OH MY GOD YOU GUYS SUCK!"

No, I mean, our team had 100, but...

"You almost lost by 100!"

And my favorite so far..."You smell like chips."

Just this week, the students stopped calling me 'Mr. Sun-Chips,' mostly because I made the teacher tell them to stop, and one afternoon I was reduced to tears by their badgering.

Just kidding, about the crying part. But more interestingly, today the kids found out my last name is "Dart" and they couldn't get enough of it. Mostly because it rhymes with "fart" but also because "Dude I love that game! One time my friend threw a dart at me and I started bleeding. Wanna see my scar?"

There's a point where the things these children say stop being adorable, and start being obnoxious, at least that's what they tell me. I haven't reached that point yet, but when I do, I'll make sure to bring it up in my sociology class, and complain about how the constraints of society is allowing 3rd Graders to feel like they can tell me I smell like chips because I am oppressed, and cannot defend myself, and it's all the systems fault. Also, my jeans don't reach my ankles because The Gap discriminates against 6'6 men whose legs make up 75 percent of their body. Life. Is. So. Hard.