Last night I had an awful dream where my school was taken over by fascists. Through the whole thing, I just kept thinking about what I had learned in my Philosophical Roots of European Fascism class that I took last semester at CMC, but these were Spanish fascists taking over, and we only learned about German and Italian fascists so I was screwed.
It's interesting that I would somehow have a dream (kind of) about that class in particular because I certainly did not like it at first. The professor, as one of my CMC associates put it, "had one foot in the grave" and, though I don't have anything against old people, she certainly didn't seem completely "with it." She often told us not to be afraid to speak up in class because she couldn't remember who we all were, so there was no way she would mark us down for a stupid question - not exactly what I'm looking for in a professor, but hey, the tests weren't that hard, so I stuck with it, and by the end she had grown on me.
On the first day back from spring break, I decided it would be fun to wear my "Kill" shirt as a little commemoration of how I felt to be returning to classes. Of course, everytime I wear this shirt, it's all in good fun.
This apparently did not come across to my Fascism professor, though, because she noted my shirt and commented, "That's a very hostile shirt you have there."
I laughed and responded, "I thought it was appropriate for the first day back after break." To which she asked "So that's what you would like to do to all your teachers."
Baffled, I told her that I wouldn't want to kill anyone and she responded with some comment about the fascists and killing and we got on with class.
For the next couple classes, everytime I came into the room, she would ask me if I were wearing "that angry shirt" until one day, when I happened to be wearing some very flamboyant orange, blue, yellow, black athletic pants, I tried to explain that I wore the shirt ironically. "Kind of like these pants - they're ridiculous!" I told her.
The next week, we had a midterm. We all put our cell phones at the front of the room because, according to this professor, students themselves have told her that they use them to cheat, and sit down to receive our exams. A little way into the period, as we're all silently working, our professor says to me, "I saw your pants in Vogue." I looked down at my pants confusedly; I had worn a pair of my gross, plain black pajama pants to school that day and thought that, of course, she would see pants like this in Vogue - they probably have plain black, somewhat baggy pants in Vogue all the time. I give a little "Oh" to acknowledge that I heard her, but to be sure not to encourage conversation. We were in the middle of a midterm, after all.
"You know, those pants that you called 'revolutionary.' They were in Vogue. Isn't it funny how revolution gets co-opted by capitalism?" She continued. At this point, I truly feel like an ass for having instigated this rant in the middle of a test. I try another "Mhm" and continue working on my exam. When I had finished - early, because I don't like to dwell on things - she made an announcement to the entire class that they should strive to be like me because I had finished first. I grabbed my cellphone and hurried out the door, anxious to escape any more interruptions that I may cause. I can only hope that my classmates recognize that these disruptions were spurred by our crazy professor and not by my crazy fashion sense.
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