The Infamous Mr. Wilson

First semester, sophomore year in college was supposed to be special. All of my classes were scheduled on Tuesday and Thursday, which left me with a four day weekend to take trips, visit friends and explore all that I could be. It didn't quite work out that way.

I spent my sophomore year in a drunken haze, interrupted by very brief bouts of sobriety and the pained realization at what my life had become. This story isn't about the bathroom fixtures I destroyed, the women I stalked or even the pledge I threatened to disembowel, instead this is a lesson on how best to alienate a professor, then rub his face in the fact.

I was technically a political science major – Buddha's call of non-being still hadn't taken hold, so it only made sense that I take a political philosophy class, especially one taught by the most lenient professor in the department. Although the 9:00 am start time did give me pause. The instructor, Professor Steinberg, was reputed to give only one take home exam, which accounted for your entire grade, and he also did not keep attendance, unlike the rest of the den mother's in the department. For a burgeoning alcoholic who took classes two days week, promptly skipped those two days and spent the entire week hopped up on hops and rye, it seemed perfect.

Much to my immediate chagrin, Steinberg had recently changed his policy and required a minimum class attendance of only four unexcused absences with each additional absence resulting in a lowered letter grade. He even went so far as to take a roll call before each lecture. This wouldn't do, there was no way I could feasibly be up by 9:00 am, hell it wasn't unusual for me to be passed out until 9:00 pm.

After two weeks and four classes, I decided to treat his new policy as an unsubstantiated bluff – the man was nearing retirement and senility, he had better things to do than babysit a bunch of disinterested drunks playing at being students. I proceeded to skip the next twelve weeks and twenty four classes. Bear in mind the class met for sixteen weeks and a thirty-two classes total.

I sauntered into his class like I owned it – okay, actually I stumbled into the class half drunk from the night before, but I was a confident drunk nonetheless. Several of my friends, who were also in the class, had warned me throughout the semester that Steinberg was serious about the new attendance policy, I usually responded with a unintelligible grunt or by shotgunning a beer. Professor Steinberg took attendance. Dolan soon gave way Wagner, my name was up next.

Steinberg's tone seemed to change as he called my name. While earlier he used a monotone voice, he grew agitated and lively when he said: "ROBERT WILSON. WILSON?" I meekly replied: "Here." He stared directly into my eyes, as if to somehow bore a hole into my soul, took a long pause and said: "So you are the infamous Mr Wilson, huh. I thought you dropped this class. We really need to talk. Stay after class."

I don't remember that day's lecture, which makes it much like every other class I hadn't attended. However Steinberg's admonishment had quickly sobered me up. I faced the real possibility of failing his class, which would have an adverse effect on my stellar 2.5 GPA. A variety of questions flooded my thoughts: Was there anything I could do or say? What relative could I kill off as an excuse? Was I the one who reeked of beer, stale cigarette smoke and Eric's Incredible Pizza?

The next thing I the knew the bell sounded. Class was over. My friends could barely hide their smirks, like sarcastic sharks they circled my chair, they knew what was coming. After the assholes left, Professor Steinberg walked over to my desk.

"By all accounts, you should fail this class." I made a motion to interject, Steinberg shook his head and continued: "I will make you deal. Turn in the final take home exam and I will give you a C. "

I was taken aback. I missed seventy-five percent of his class; I contributed absolutely nothing to the class discussion; I thumbed my nose at the professors' attendance and grading policy, yet I was still in position to pass.

Not to be one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I responded: "What if I write an absolutely fantastic paper, wouldn't that constitute at least a B?" He gave me a pained look, shook his head no and pointed to the door.

I decided it was best to take my leave. I had a busy day ahead. I needed to track down a recent obituary to show my African American Studies professor that my grandmother had recently died, thus explaining why I missed his 2:30 pm exam.