Identity Crisis

Image via Wikipedia
How did they do aerobics in those robes?
And what exactly is dude measuring with his hands?
And is Jesus pearl-clutching?

So I finally got around to checking the academic schedule to see when I'm teaching next term. I thought I'd have to be ready to go on the 2nd of January as long, painful, sometimes hung-over experience at the University of Chicago had taught me, but it turns out I have until near the end of January to procrastinate updating my lectures and junk. My textbook samples arrived last week (I had requested them in September) and after a grand total of 5 minutes examining them, I adopted two of them for this term in the hopes they'll be slightly less confusing than the textbooks I used last time.

Cool.

It occurs to me though that I am not quite sure what to say when people ask me what I do. I already had a preview of this after my Nana's funeral. Someone asked what I did and my uncle told them I was a teacher. So the guy asked what grade I taught. And I said "college." And there was sort of awkward silence.

Ahem.

Then the guy asked what class I taught and I said "ancient Egyptian history" because that's the easiest answer. And every few minutes for the rest of the afternoon he kindly (and loudly) warned me to watch out for mummies. Why, yes, there was drinking involved, why do you ask?

I decided that was probably not the best time to bring up excavating cemeteries and storing skeletons under my bed for safety (of the skeletons).  Seriously, though, that got really damn annoying.

Anyway, thus my identity crisis.

I'm not a professor. Technically I'm an instructor. But I can already see the hilarity possible in that conversation.

Random person: So, what do you do?
Me: I'm an instructor.
Random person: Of what?
Me: (Gripping cane tightly) Aerobics.¹

Also, the campus where I teach is in a mall. As in next to JC Penny's. Because surreality is my reality.

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1 Other potential responses include: "Karate" and "Your Mom"