I am reposting this for my dear friend Pipes, who says the word “college” in the most hilarious way.
college
To Speak Or Be Forced To Speak. 6.29.2010
So, I’m taking this Public Speaking class at UofL, which I love about as much as a wolf spider loves a terrified housewife with a rolled up newspaper. Why am I taking this class? Because someday I’d like to make more money. People will do crazy things for money, like become high class hookers or wrastle’ gators on television or screw Rick Patino or take public speaking courses in their late 20’s.
Seriously, I’m taking this class with twenty-five people under 21 years old. I was pregnant with my son when these guys were in fourth grade. I would not liken myself unto the words “old” or “fart”, but somehow these descriptors are riding my proverbial coat tails.
The speaking part is not the true suckitude of speech class…. it’s the preparing a whole speech about nothing and trying to feign enthusiasm to people who could not possibly care less. I would absolutely not hate this class if they’d just hand me a speech to memorize and let me roll with it. I would speech the sh*t out of a speech if it were pre-written. But that would make it a monologue of sorts, and then the name of the class would have to be changed to Monotone Theatre Excerpts Read from Note Cards. Which would make even the most enthusiastic dramatist want to kill themselves.
The only delicious tidbit in this class is that it’s 50% Louisville football players. If you think your life is dull, I would highly recommend enrolling with me. Recently, one young man delivered an informative speech about how Jordan brand clothing is more than just clothing. The Jordan Brand, he claimed, is a way of life. The entire speech went like this:
“ So, you know, it’s like about the respek, you know, like, when people see the Jordan symbol they, like, you know, KNOW, and it’s, like, about the pride, you know, it’s a pride thing, you know, so it be like more than that, you know, it’s a way of life….”
I thought, “Honey, your ‘way of life’ is headed straight down Are You Fucking Kidding Me Road to cashiering at the nearest Taco Bell. For my next demonstration-themed speech, I thought about bringing in a stack of Wal-Mart applications and doing a demonstration speech titled: How To Get A Head Start on Your Future.
But I didn’t.
I chose a lame topic on how to make guacamole. Because I am a heartless, upper-middle-class white woman who clearly does not know her audience. Immediately after posting this topic I thought, WHO CARES??? And then I realized: exactly. Who cares. So, I spent a treacherous fifteen minutes preparing an outlined speech and then another 3 HOURS fumbling over a five-slide power point. Seriously, I am to power point what a monkey is to fucking a football. Which also happened to be the closest to relating to my audience that I actually got.
So the day of my speech (yesterday), I got to work early to practice my speech, only to discover my power point missing. It wasn’t saved on my flash drive or my work computer… it simply vanished. So I did what any heartless, upper-middle-class white woman would do. I lost my cookies over it and CRIED. I cried like the world was over or like I had gotten my period. Whichever.
I cried and cried and cried.
“God…”, I thought, “…don’t I have enough things already that I couldn’t care less about?” Because I do. I have so much else to deal with, it’s like I was trying to function in life without the use of an entire arm, then giving up because I got a splinter in my toe. So I got back on the Playskool rocking horse, redid my power point, and went to class completely unrehearsed.
When I got there, a bunch of the football boys were already there. They are so young and surprisingly open and kind. They seem to respect me as an elder of sorts, but I’m pretty sure they’d still bang me. When I walked in, they immediately started high-fiving me and talking about the speeches, and I mentioned that I was unprepared and kind of overwhelmed. “We got your back, Miss Allison,” one said, followed by lots of You-da-bombs and You-be-like-a-teacher-so-you-show-us-what’s-up (because my real job is actually being a teacher and I do, in fact, know what’s up). The thing is, I show them respect. I am kind to them and I know all their names and I listen to their awful speeches. And just then I remembered: THEIR speeches are AWFUL.
So the lesson I learned yesterday was this: In a room full of idiots, I’m the least of my worries.
Just kidding.
Sort of.
I did my speech. I read straight from the note cards and sweated like a Danish Christian in Mecca. It was awful. Beyond awful.
They all cheered for me at the end.
I got an A+.
This, somehow, is my life 🙂
seeallisonplay 