I sit down in Property class, pull out my textbook, and before I can even crack it open I hear, “Ms. Hancock, tell us what’s going on in Marini v. Ireland.”
“Uhhh....” Buying a few more seconds to compose a coherent answer, I ask him to repeat the question. As he does so, I’m frantically flipping through the textbook pages. The situation is getting increasingly awkward, and I have to come up with an answer. I admit, “I’m sorry − give me one second, I’m just trying to find what page that case is on.”
Professor Arnold interrupts my page-turning frenzy. “It’s on page 60, Chapter 4. The chapter listed in your syllabus to be discussed today” (although his tone is saying, “It is on page 60, you idiot. If you had been prepared, you would have known that”).
I finally find the text about the case. In reality, only about 20 seconds has passed, but it feels like hours. As I reach into my binder to pull out my notes on the case, Professor Arnold, annoyed, interrupts my feverish search again.
“Well, we will just move on to someone else,” he says bluntly.
The moment he calls another student’s name, I find my notes and obnoxiously blurt out, “I’m ready now!”
He just shoots me a look that says, Too late. You failed.
Then, of course, the other student eloquently and accurately relays all the facts of Marini v. Ireland.
I sink into my seat, defeated.
The upperclassmen had warned us that this day was coming, but no one can ever be prepared. The experience was humiliating and humbling, but most importantly, it was a wake-up call. I needed to study harder and be more prepared to avoid such public humiliation. Like most catastrophes, this type of epiphany is painful and crushing to the ego, but we learn from them; we get better, stronger, and smarter.
So now, having learned my lesson, my challenge to Professor Arnold for next week is this: Bring it!
