Tuesday, September 28, 2010

TA's, Praying Mantises, and Stroganoff

It is important to make sure the TAs know you, or at least know your name.  Any publicity is good publicity with those people.  That’s why I called them all together for a meeting.  I planned the time and location, but I couldn’t think of anything to talk about, so I settled for tripping when I entered the room to get their attention.  I had it all figured out:  I would carry a huge stack of multi-colored flyers and dramatically fling them into the air as I pretended to trip.  They would never forget me.  The only problem was, nobody showed up to the meeting.  Weird.
I had to think of an alternative way to make them notice me.  After much deliberation, I decided to send them an obnoxious email asking an obvious question.  I asked them when the testing center closes.  I already know it closes at midnight ten, and even if I didn’t I’d know where to look it up.  Faking ignorance was all part of my plan.
The venture was not as successful as I would have hoped.  One of them snapped at me for emailing them before noon, one of them thought the testing center closed at eleven, and four of them didn’t even bother answering.  I’ve never felt so anonymous, except for that time when I went to the Common Names Convention.  I had no idea so many people were trying to impersonate me!  Luckily I happened to have my pepper spray and thumbscrew keychain and I took care of the knaves pretty quickly.
I will have to think of another way to be noticed and remembered by my TA’s.  Maybe I could knit them personalized ascots, or name my pet praying mantises after them.  I’ll think of something epic.
By the way, why are praying mantises called praying mantises?  They don’t look like they are praying to me.  They look like they are obsessively rubbing their hands together like an evil scientist or a super-villain.  Probably some old grandmother named them that when her grandson came to her in tears because a mantis had eaten his pet pill-bug.  She probably drew him close and said, “Mantises aren’t so bad.  Look, that one’s saying a prayer before she eats her mate.  Let’s call them praying mantises.”  She would have smiled benignly, and the little boy would have been haunted for years by nightmares about being eaten by his wife.
I need to go to bed, but I’m kind of afraid I’ll have nightmares where I’m eaten by my future spouse.  I’ll have to be sure to find a man who at least has the decency to pray before he makes me into delicious stroganoff.  That would be a comfort to me.       

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