As you may recall, I had embarked on a Saturday morning journey, following directions given by the GPS lady hidden within the electronics of my new car. When I reached my destination, a mere nine miles from my house, I parked on the far side of a street of stately homes and watched the man I knew to be my former numerical analysis professor trimming his front privet hedge with an orange electric hedge trimmer powered through an orange wire snaking out onto the front sidewalk where privet clippings had begun piling up. I asked the GPS lady how many other math majors from my alma mater had begun awakening on Saturday morning only to be ambushed by the nightmare of our math professor scratching his chalk at the green board, filling the board from left to right with a theorem proof they think will mean nothing to their lives, yet has created a terrible moment of panic on a particular morning when rest from a week’s work is sorely needed. I'm sure many of you can relate to this festering nightmare and my hatred of a particular pedagogue from the deep recesses of my past.
... To be continued
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