Café chatter

Oh my God, the woman at a nearby table is explaining to her professor the details of her nervous breakdown that lead her to not prepare for his exam. Does she know that all of us are only pretending we can’t hear?  I am tempted to jump in and say: you were so right to go to student mental health services! You sound like you are completely beyond the beyond. Get more help! And pick a more private spot to explain your suicidal tendencies. Twenty of us know too much and are now sitting at the edge of our seats, waiting to hear his response.

UPDATE: He’ll let her retake the (philosophy) class in another semester. She is pleased. Morbid thoughts are pushed aside, the future looks good to her again. Such power in the professorial magic wand (or in the student threat of mental collapse)!

UPDATE no.2: Ah! Having addressed one issue she is forging ahead with the next: “what about my GPA?” she groans. He cuts her some slack here as well. Incomplete this, drop that, do this and it’ll all work out. She is dripping gratitude. She is also stacking her other health issues on the table for him (and us all). Enough! The problem has been taken care of, move on, move on! He cannot also be expected to fix your eating habits! The professor, the god, the therapist, the healer, the dietician – how much is placed on the shoulders of this poor man... How bad he is at saying “I’m sorry, I only teach philosophy, nothing more.”