So I have a bit of a problem. I have too many opinions and too much free time in which to express them (hence, la blog).
On the upside, this can be viewed as a healthy indicator that my brain actually functions from time to time.
On the downside…
In firstyear, we had this lecturer who I shall call Dr Washman. Now Dr Washman has a rather, er, eccentric fashion sense. Never has it been clearer than that fateful first lecture when she arrived in class with a black miniskirt, fishnet stockings, high-heeled boots and some hippie-inspired Eurofusion accessories.
Because I’d never had her before, I was quick to make a snap judgment about her lack of professionalism and maturity. Folks, she was dressed like some of my classmates during an excessively rowdy weekend. And she’s old enough to be my mother’s older sister.
Anyway, it turns out that Dr Washman is actually the sweetest human being to ever exist and her dress sense seems to be an indication of her ever-youthful spirit. But hindsight wins no prizes here.
Immediately after that first lecture we had lunch and on the way out of the lecture hall a friend and I started discussing how tragic her choice of attire had been that day. Okay, maybe I wasn’t very kind about it…
Me: I’m actually really shocked. She looked like a teenager.
Friend: It wasn’t that bad…
Me: Well, I found it hard to take anything she said seriously. She needs to pick a wardrobe that matches her age-group…oh snap!
As life tends to go with me, Dr Washman walked past us in a semi-rushed manner and I realized that she’d probably been behind me all along. What made it worse was that I’d already gathered from her first lecture that she was a soft kind of person, so if she’d heard what I’d said, it probably wasn’t like water off a duck’s back. (That is the phrase, right?)
Any further proof I needed was given when my friend pointed out the other day that since that day, Dr Washman only ever lectures us wearing pants. (Still funky-looking and eccentric, but conservative nonetheless.)
A more recent example is how, a couple of weeks ago, I was in a meeting with some people in a committee that I’m on, when tasks started being delegated. Now, if you’re a committee person you’ll know how unproductive these things can become because hardly anyone ever really wants to do all the hard work it takes to get even the simplest things done.
I happened to mention this during a lull in the delegation process and nearly got my head bitten off by our chairperson. This was disturbing to me, until someone later pointed out that the chairperson had recently been disciplined by the powers that be for being all-round lazy and so my comment had seemed like a direct jab at her. It would have been, had I known.
Like I can keep up with campus gossip.
In high school, my best friend and I were members of the Senior Council and more often than not had to pick up the pieces of other Council members’ slack. Like any self-respecting teenagers, we moaned and complained (to each other) about our peers and often had code-names and phrases for our incompetent peers. By the end of our matric year, however, we’d put these childish ways behind us. Not because we’d matured and flowered into respectable young women, but because we’d discovered a thing that we liked to call The Curse. Basically, The Curse can be summed up as follows:
When ever Bollywood and I gossip about an individual, it can be guarrenteed that said individual WILL appear at that precise moment.
Now I could bore you with all sorts of anecdotes about the time that I was gossiping about a senior and she walked into the room and called me on it, or the time that exact same senior was bragging about what a rockstar medstudent she is compared to her relatively useless clinical partners while two of her partners were in the next room listening in (I call this Transference of The Curse), but that would take time and space that I’d rather use to get to the point of this post…
Fast-forward to this morning, after our late surgery lecturer had dismissed us for lunch and freedom. (Now you know it’s a problem when the pathologists are more interesting than the guys from surgery.) I’d been zoning out throughout his lecture and was excited to be having an hour to re-excite myself about medicine when I ran into two seniors.
Senior: Did you guys just have Prof Apple?
Me: No, goodness we had surgery.
Senior: With who?
Me: Some surgery guy. They’re all just so boring. Why do they have to be so boring?
Senior: *awkward expression*
And lecturer walks past.
So, my newfound resolution is that as of today I will be an absolute mute. If you even see me so much as lipsynching, I give you written permission to slap me.
‘Cause I seriously need to learn a lesson in taming this tongue before a random surgery lecturer decides to suture my mouth shut for me.