Crosswind waited for the next of an all-day series of student conferences--which set her apart from most of her colleagues*. Unfortunately, this schedule also meant a lunch of meat-onna-bun, rather than a satisfying feast with beer at the Newe Heidelberg** down the street.
So many of these kids don't get it, she thought. They just don't understand that most of them really are average.
In another hour or so, Crosswind was able to get away long enough to check her messages with Grrrr****, one of the department's thinking-machines. She had to fight for space with others who were checking mail, shopping or playing solitaire. The Corey-Seedin DFP weren't helping her cold much, but at least they made the conferences entertaining.
On the way back from Grrrr's lab, Instructor Crosswind was unable to avoid the Director of Compost-ition.
"So, I heard you're wanting to do research on the students?"
"Yes, I want to write about how they respond to having certain topics assigned."
"Oh, you just want to write? Then why do I need to sign off on this Review of Research form?"
"Because, since grades are involved indirectly in the study, students might be considered an at-risk population."
"At risk of what?"
"Well, we can't have them getting any of that. It could be disastrous for retention..." and he went blithering away in his fog of officious mediocrity.
*The mark of advancement in the university involves mainly having as little as possible to do with students.
**Formerly the Olde Heidelberg***
***Until the fire, that is....
****So named for the sound emitted by its users.