Monday, 14 March 2005 | Rat

I have a bad habit of enduring things that make me miserable, if the circumstances require me to be particularly assertive, or if there's a danger of embarrassing someone or getting somebody in trouble. I might complain about the situation to a third party, but I'm often not willing to correct it for fear of the ramifications (i.e., hurting someone's feelings, or living with oppressive guilt). If I weren't me, I would get on my nerves if I saw me do this.

I'd like to thank my devastatingly bad video production course professor for unknowingly helping me with this personality flaw, which has been with me for as long as I can remember. Because of his incompetence, I was inspired to contact the head of his department to find out whether I could drop the class, or instead take it with someone who didn't have contempt for his students.

Granted, the first draft of my letter was way too timid and forgiving, and in it I actually said things like, "I know I probably should've brought this up after the first day of class," and "I realize I'm not eligible for a full refund." Fortunately I ran the letter by my friend Alex, who decorated it with red pen and coached me into writing an epistle that might even make the professor feel a little bit bad about his performance, if only he had a soul. (In the first version I hadn't even mentioned the professor's name, or given any examples of his transgressions.)

I've always been wary of ratting people out, even if it's only a consequence of a greater goal. I'm not sure if it's because my brother was always so eager to tell my parents of my minor crimes, or if it's because I naturally had an overabundance of guilt, empathy, or a desire to be liked. In any case, I refused to tell on anyone for anything, even when a boy I knew lit my sweater on fire while I was wearing it, and even when my parents threatened to cancel Christmas if I didn't tell them who was responsible. (My brother, on the other hand, would keep my parents posted about even the pettiest of sins, like the time I spoiled my dinner by eating too many cookies.)

I do feel a little guilty about implicating my professor, but I can't tell you how happy I am that I only sat through three disappointing classes (as opposed to a full semester), and that this summer I'll be taking the class with (hopefully) someone more capable. It has occurred to me, however, that the school has probably since created a file for me and put a mark by my name, perhaps in the form of a Mr. Yuk sticker, that suggests I'm someone to watch out for. Kind of the equivalent of the cook spitting on your sandwich after you sent it back to the kitchen for improvement.