Buddy Check

What's good Wetberg's World? I'll assume not a whole lot since you haven't heard from me on this fine blog in a MONTH!I'm sure you all read the blog title and were intrigued...Was Wetberg some kind of camp counselor that conducts buddy checks every 10 minutes at the beach? You'll hear it here first: I'm not and wasn't. That'd be my boy Bri-Guy who also throws up a savage blog called "Bunking with Brian" (Holla!)

Part of my non-blogging has been attributed to my inspiration, Mark 'The Shark' Titus' retirement from the blogging community as he decided to write a book. The good news is, he's back after being drafted by the Harlem Globetrotters where he is poised to post many more trillions.

On the note of trillions...(a stat line of one minute played and zeros for the rest of the stats.)...I couldn't have recorded a trillion in our previous summer league game if I tried. We had 5 guys, and I was the most qualified to be the point guard with my measly 6'4" stature. We were big, and we were slow. Or roster was myself at the point, Walt at 2, freshmen recruits at 6'5" and 6'7", and Rob Dog. We had 5 guys, 10 lungs, and not enough oxygen. We panted our way to a 6 point loss to a solid St. Olaf team.

Back to the point of this blog. Where've I been for the last 5 weeks? Beaches? Traveling? (only on the court) Hanging out with friends? Barely...No. I've been taking a five credit chemistry class at River Falls' highest rated 4-year university in the town. A semester's worth of General Chemistry was shoved down my thoat five weeks. It was one of the most mediocre experiences of my life. It was a class of 25 students from many different walks of life. I can appreciate this. I'm all about diversity. We had a lot of cultures in there and a lot of different ages, but only one person was able to get under skin. No, I'm not a racist. I didn't even mind that my professor had some kind of crazy Russian accent. I actually preferred it because she sounded out each syllable of each word, and talked nice and slow, but kept a very peppy attitude except for the time she threw a model of an atom overhand like Todd Coffee hurls a late-game fastball for the Brewers...at a student. He deserved it though. He asked a dumb question...too stoned to think straight.

Let's get back to the guy who got under my skin.
I don't think anybody knows the true name of the guy who got under my skin, but he can be described to a T. This guy was an adult education student. I have no grudge against people who return to school. I think that's great that they're trying a new career, or getting more qualified. The only thing that grinds my gears about adult education students is the uncountable (or are they?) number of questions that they ask. Adult Ed. Students that are being trained in their field have legitimate reasons. Students in General Chemistry have little to no reason to ask a rediculous number of questions. If I had to guess, this guy, "Buddy" (as his white lab coat read), probably got fired from his old job for being the most annoying worker.

About 15 minutes into day one, Buddy's hand is waving in the air to ask a stupid question like if notes about the syllabus would be on the mid-term. Beginning then, the Math Ed. major in me flared up hard. I pulled out the back of my folder to tally the number of questions that Buddy would ask each day of class. Well 5 weeks of class went by and the results are in!

A quick background on our class will tell you that we had a 3 1/2 hour lecture on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, and a 2 1/2 hour lecture on Thursdays. Mondays we had exams, which were a guaranteed hour of silence. I was very diligent to record tally marks for any and all questions, boisterous comments, and pointless concerns.
Buddy was out to prove a point: He loves chemistry, and he is better at it than everybody in the class. We aren't even in the same generation, and we were reminded each and every day.

Here's a fun fact to paint a picture for you. Over the course of our 18 days of lectures, our class got the privilege of hearing his voice over 256 times! For you non-Math Majors, that just over 14 comments per day. That's about 4 comments per hour. (Every 15 minutes) I sat 30 feet away from him in a large lecture hall and could hear every single whisper scream as he used his years of wisdom to guide a young, confused college student.

Here's a short letter I've composed to my man Buddy,

Dear Buddy,

You probably don't know me, but I know you. That would be creepy, but every member of our class knows you. There's even a good chance that the classes next door know you. You could potentially be my father, or even grandfather. When you've got everyone in the class beat out in age by at least 30 years, you should just blend in the background because you're not the center of attention in the class. Why don't you just put in your time, get your five credits, and go become a game-show host where you can ask all the questions you want.
I'll give you some credit buddy. Of your 256 questions, there were a few that were actually pertinent to my education and helped my learning. However, you asked so many bad questions, I ran out of jokes to tell my lab partner. So not only are you looking bad, but you're making me look bad.
A couple more things: Don't show up to the first day of freshman summer chemistry in a lab coat. We get it...you're smart and a big deal, but your tool-o-meter is flashing on red right now. Also, when you wear classic rock t-shirts tucked into your jeans every day to class, it only exposes our age gap. Finally, don't go around hugging the prof and act like it's you two vs. a class of college kids. She's your professor, not your friend.
Buddy, I know I've been hard on you in this blog and letter, but know I don't hate you. Ya just grind my gears. My gears have been ground to the point of being dry.

So there's a solution for buddy, myself, and each of my 14 adoring fans,

GET WET!