I am a respected professional in my field. I teach hundreds of college students annually. I am the head of my department. I help effect institution wide changes to help improve how the entire college runs and how well students learn. I don't tell you any of this to brag. I tell you this, so you have an idea of my confidence level. I never have a case of nerves because I am always prepared.
All that flies straight out the window when you have a large man sitting in a chair with his face 18 inches from your crotch, who says in a thick Caribbean accent, "Please drop your pants."
Just another in a long list of reasons why I hate doctors: They cause extreme embarrassment. They cause me pain, both physical and financial. They make tons of money off me, which they use to sail to Jamaica and drink rum for weeks on end, while I sit in a dreary classroom having exciting discussions about the world of comma splices.
But being the unselfish person I am, I want my students to experience all that life has to offer. It will give them more content about which to write and make them more well rounded people in general.
Therefore, starting Monday, whenever I return essays all marked up in the brightest, most blood red ink I can find, I will first stand at the front of the class and, as loudly as humanly possible, snap on some ominous looking doctor's gloves. Then I will pick up the stack of essays, and as I return the first one - to the most obnoxious student in the room, I will say in my most resonating bass voice, "Now turn your head and cough."