Battle rages between good, evil teaching assistants

Battle rages between good, evil teaching assistants

St. Angelas provide valuable course insight; demon Doms disrupt
educational process

Today is a landmark day for me. Today, I was basically told that
I’m a worthless human being, and that being such, I must submit
that all my previous knowledge and expertise comes to me through
luck and nothing more. For today, the Dom came into my life, and it
is now that I feel I should share my exploits with you, the
audience.

But before I go on, please let me warn you: The Dom has informed
me that I "don’t have any grasp of English sentence construction or
punctuation … (such that) most of this (will be) barely more than
gibberish." And this being true, you ain’t gonna want to read none
more.

For those of you who have decided to find out what this is
about, well, it’s a pathetically true story of my dealings with two
types of teaching assistants (TAs): "the Doms" and "the Angelas."
Writing about this subject bothers me, though. See, writing about
TAs is a bit like writing about the Internal Revenue Service:
You’re sure to get audited. But someone has to do it, and since the
Dom has let me know that I’m an ignorant SOB, then who better?

We’ve all seen them, and we’ve all had to deal with them.
However, most of us have been lucky to only deal with the Angelas
of the TA world. But occasionally, there comes along a misfit – a
rabid dog among the show breeds, in need of a terminal shot to help
put it out of its misery. These poster children for euthanasia are
a product which every professional situation has to deal with. It’s
just unfortunate that even at the level of higher education, there
exists a blot that just doesn’t seem to go away. But before I vent
and rage about the Dom, let me first give you the tale of
Angela.

In my short stay here at UCLA, I have been fortunate enough to
deal primarily with TAs very similar to Angela. Knowledgeable and
informative, the Angelas have been a great help toward that
academic sign of success – my GPA.

Every professor here is acclaimed in one aspect or another, and
due to that acclaim, helps create the high standard of learning for
which UCLA is known. But unfortunately, not every professor has the
best speaking skills. So when I ended up in a class that I didn’t
particularly want to be in (but had to thanks to that GE
requirement), it was a real treat to find a professor who had the
speaking skills of a PBS newscaster.

What a combination: a complex course in a lecture hall the size
of Giant Stadium with a professor whose personality matched the
fetus from "Alien." You know what I mean – attaches itself to your
face, renders you unconscious, then slips that egg into your body,
thereby forcing you into a zombie-like state until your intestines
blow out through your stomach. (This last act is usually performed
during finals.)

Luckily, before the egg was laid, I ran into my first Angela –
the TA for this particular course. Dreading the discussion group, I
dragged myself through the door early that first Friday morning
without the aid of caffeine, and felt like Alice stepping through
the looking glass.

Bright and charming, Angela had an enthusiasm for the course
that soon became infectious. She was a graduate student in that
field of study (with intentions of becoming a professor) and was
able to parlay her personal experiences in order to make the class
more accessible.

In the end, I didn’t get an A from her, but I did learn quite a
bit, and in the process, signed on for another class (with a
different professor) in that field of study. Because of her ability
to help explain what I felt was nearly impossible to understand,
she made me more confident in myself and in my ability to
learn.

In the last two quarters, I’ve met a couple of Angelas and have
been happy to have them there. Though some graded harder than
others, the grades themselves were fair and consistent, in direct
connection with my understanding of the content. Then I met the the
Dom.

I wanted to come up with some witty name, like "Dom the Dick" or
"Dom o’ Dick," but then realized that he was probably already
called these names (and others) throughout his high school bully
days; also, I am supposed to change the names of those I speak
about. So being the nice guy that I am, I came up with "the Dom"
(cue here to hum the "Godfather" theme song).

The Dom apparently has a huge self-esteem problem, possibly
enhanced by small problems in another domain, but I wouldn’t want
to speculate on that aspect. He particularly likes speaking down to
students during discussion, showing up to class without having
previously read the material, and telling students to come by
during office hours so that he can berate them in front of his
fellow Doms.

Let me give you a typical seven-week overview of the Dom’s
discussion group.

Week One: " … nothing to talk about since we’ve only had one
lecture, so I’ll talk to you next week."

Week Two: "I haven’t done the reading yet, but I think (the
professor) was saying … "

Week Three: " … well, what (the professor) was saying, I don’t
agree with. Here’s what (the text) really means … "

I didn’t go Week Four. It was a beautiful day out, a Friday. The
weekend was calling, and my wife and I had a baby-sitter for the
kid (wink wink, nudge nudge) … like you haven’t ditched at least
one day!

Week Five: "Any questions about the midterms, you can see me in
my office hours. But I’m not reviewing rough drafts, and I’d prefer
that you just write it without my input so that I can see how well
you understand the text."

Week Six: "I didn’t do the reading … are there any
questions?"

Week Seven: "You all need to learn how to write … the next
paper I see with that kind of grammatical error, I’m just going to
give it an F and throw it in the trash … pathetic … no
knowledge of basic English … all of them were worthless …
should have come to me during office hours … " (30 minutes later)
"I didn’t do the reading, but what I think (the professor) was
saying …"

By the way, it wasn’t an English class. Nor was it a class where
English held any relevance whatsoever. There was a need to have
basic essay skills, but I’m pretty sure that most of us had to
write an essay for our entrance application, and maybe, just maybe,
in a university that maintains the academic quality that UCLA does,
the majority of us know how to write a basic essay. Apparently, the
Dom thinks not.

See, the Dom is of the high opinion that not only are we all
ignorant and pathetic in his eyes (for he is obviously
exceptionally brilliant, considering he doesn’t even need to do the
reading for the subject in which he’s a teaching assistant), but
that we all should read a good grammar text and continually learn
how to write.

On this point, I have to admit, I do agree. In fact, during his
Week Seven rant when he forgot the name of a grammar text, I
mentioned the grammar pocketbook by Strunk and White (a standard
text to pretty much anyone who does a bit of writing), but
unfortunately, he had no idea what book I was talking about.

He even mentioned reading a good novel to help the writing
process. I have to agree with that, also. Of course, he mentioned
someone that no one in the class had ever heard of. I guess that
Twain, Faulkner, Hemingway, King and Grisham just suck in their
writing skills. Like I said in the beginning, apparently so do I.
Even though the class had nothing to do with writing, and
everything to do with content, it still doesn’t answer the big
question about my writing skills that he posed: Who am I as a
writer?

Just because I own a publishing company which released 13 books
in the last year, and I wrote and/or co-wrote seven books, that
doesn’t mean I can write. Just because I publish an average of 20
articles a year and am currently working out a deal to sell a
screenplay, again, doesn’t mean a thing. And all those awards I won
for my poetry, well those pathetic judges must have been drunk.
Sheesh, and to think of all that money I’ve made, just sitting
alone and hollow in the stock portfolio I’ve created for my
daughter, all because of writing. The shame I feel.

Thank God I finally came to the light and found the Dom. Without
his degrading words of wisdom, I’d still be selling books, articles
and poetry in an unintelligent and blind fashion. Helter skelter
for the ignorant! After all, he’s so good at writing and grammar
(even though it has nothing to do with the content of the course),
he’s been published in … er … um … well, he’s been published
numerous … er … um … actually, I don’t think he has.

But hey! That doesn’t mean anything. Remember, he can come to
discussion completely unprepared and tell the students exactly
what’s going on from the previous lecture (I tried that for a
midterm and an Angela gave me an F, but I’m not as smart as the
Dom, apparently).

But that was only one particular Dom, and there are others out
there – just as there are other Angelas out there. And it is the
Angelas that really do help make this university maintain
quality.

In the real world, there are shockingly very few Doms. And where
they do exist, they generally haven’t made it too far up the
corporate food chain to make much difference. Sure one or two slip
through the cracks (c’mon, you really think that York Chang will be
an Angela?), but the majority stay well within the scope of their
own ego. I know one particular Dom who is now using his
computer/math skills as best suited for him:

Customer: "I’d like five on pump number 10."

The Dom: "Yes, sir. Right away, sir. Shall I clean your windows
or check your oil?"

See, it’s only when the Dom has a forced audience, like a
mandatory class, that he can live out his fantasy. Usually, this
fantasy world is something along the lines of the Dom sitting on
top of a pyramid, throwing little tiny pickles at all the naked
worshippers on the ground as he hums show tunes for them to dance
to. Spam, giraffes and a rhinestone saddle are also involved, but
let’s not go there; it’s not for the faint of heart.

In any case, having a trapped audience allows the Doms to throw
their weight around and emotionally beat students in a manner that
would make West Point proud. Just because the Doms were
undergraduates only a short time before doesn’t stop them from
living like dictators. They know that there is nowhere for their
captives to run.

But maybe I have the Doms pegged wrong. Maybe I’m blowing this
all out of proportion and writing this because I got a bad grade
and I want to personally get back at all the Doms in my life. No,
that’s not it. Because there are many Angelas that have given me
bad grades, too. They’re just helpful when a bad grade comes along,
and they grade based on the topic at hand, not on a personal
whim.

I can understand that being a TA has got to be a difficult job.
Usually, most students don’t notice a teaching assistant until they
need help, have a gripe with the course or get a grade they don’t
agree with. This means tension, and with tension comes problems.
Then again, there are students out there that have genuine
questions and concerns, and who are usually pretty friendly when
spoken with, not at.

Teaching assistants aren’t the highest paid, either, and I can
definitely sympathize with that. It’s tough being second in command
while another gets credit and pays for the course. But as with any
job, you have to start small before becoming the boss, and quite
frankly, if you don’t like your job, then quit.

To all the Angelas out there: Keep doing great work, and please
go into the teaching profession. The education system is a unique
arena to be involved in, and with more Angelas, is a place that can
only become greater than it already is. Education is the lifeblood
of our civilization, and it is only healthy with the involvement of
individuals willing to care for and nurture it, in much the same
way a mother does with a child. And for that, I thank you.

To all the Doms out there: Well, only one word comes to mind,
and it is only with proper examination that I can truly recognize
the impact that this single word may have in your life. Education
doesn’t need you, and will only be harmed by your presence – and
real life will put you in your place even if I can’t. Though my
English is of the worst kind, I’m sure you’ll be able to understand
my proposition when I say, "Leave."

Get out your Webster’s if you don’t understand.

Reardon is a third-year philosophy student. His column appears
on alternate Mondays.

Michael Reardon

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