I Say, You Say, Essay

Some people go on game shows expecting to win big, only to embarrass themselves in front of family, friends, a whole studio audience, and millions of television viewers.

We had an essay exam a few days earlier, and when they were returned, the professor had me read my exam aloud to the whole class because he thought it was so well written that the other students would benefit from hearing it. It was not a great essay. If I were to show you, you would think nothing of it. Even if you knew the directions and what we had studied, you would probably say “good job” and roll your eyes. I hadn’t been completely sure how to prepare for the test, and I was kind of worried that what I wrote was not what the professor was looking for. Fortunately, he didn’t just stamp the word “crap” on my paper, or place the real thing in the place of the word.

I’ve never had a professor who had students read exams aloud. I didn’t really want to read my essay to everybody, but I was a deer stuck in the headlights of my teacher’s eyes. The notebook paper I had written on was in my hand, and my eyes were trying to focus on the scribbles I had scrambled to shake out of my pencil before the time limit was over. What should have been English looked more like Arabic, although not as nightmarish as traditional Chinese characters, in which case, I would have really had my zipper stuck.

Handwriting is supposed to be nice because the professor needs to read it along with many other essays in a short amount of time. They always complain about how their eyes get tired. My handwriting is usually clear, even if it’s not as nice as some people’s handwriting. Some people write as well as they type—and not just perfectly: it’s also fancy like the curly fonts that are so ornate you can’t really take them seriously. I’m not sure how anybody writes that well. My handwriting isn’t that nice, but I would say it’s still above average—especially for a guy’s handwriting. However, this is only true when I can take my time. I do some things pretty well because I take my time, but it takes me twice as long to do it as it would for somebody else. Essay exams do not allow me to take my time.

The first sentences went in my eyes, registered in my brain, and exited my mouth like honey. All went well as the class listened to their most honored student of the day in all his brilliance and sophistication. I tried to keep up this smooth reading, since that is how intelligent people read. If one can write, generally they can read too.

The next few sentences came out of my mouth like an orange flavored soy drink that has passed the expiration by over three years—and you don’t just spit that out, you throw it up. What had I written anyway? I needed the help of the Rosetta stone, and it was too long ago to remember what the words might have been. I had to move my fingers up to the lines so that I wouldn’t skip any, but if I had, I don’t think it would have mattered. I was trying to concentrate, but there were bunny rabbits jumping up and down inside my head. I just tried to repeat what the bunny rabbits were singing. I don’t know how many words I missed or read out of place.

Beads of sweat paraded down my neck. My fingers clenched the paper like a superhero’s clothing clings to its owner. I can’t tell you for sure if the students were looking at me or if they were really paying attention, but I’m sure they must have noticed when I said “The flu bladda bla-bla, bla hethallik!” And there went any possibility of me seeming like the admired classmate I might have been.

Well, maybe I can try to impress them with my supposed knowledge some other time.