Let me first thank Mr. Luis.
Yes, you. The college tutor who this afternoon effortlessly breezed through the relations of trigonometric functions and how to apply them. His name tag said “Luis”.
I was confused.
But thanks to Luis, I have a basic concept of how to do what.
I obviously still need a crapload of practice.
The past few days, I had been furiously tackling these trig problems all with no success. Each problem mocked me. The book had no examples of the problems that haunted me. Every time the computer gleefully threw the red “X” at me, I felt dumber and dumber.
I struggled with knowing what function to apply to find an angle or a side.
It’s simple. I (now) know.
Have I introduced you to Karma?
No, not the good or bad luck associated with previous deeds, I’m talking about my classmate.
Yes, her name is Karma.
And she’s European, raised in Dubai.
She thinks I’m both cool and smart.
I know I’m cool, but people (incorrectly) think I’m as smart as I look.
There is the exception of my boss who sarcastically tells me that I’m lucky to not be as dumb as I look. Have I ever mentioned that my boss is awesome? Well he is. Because (verbally) he takes as good as he gives.
Last Thursday in class, we had to do a group assignment which really sucked for my fellow group members because I was clueless.
The worst part was the professor picked me to go up and show the group solution on the whiteboard in front of the whole class.
Somehow, I have an odd capability of remembering large quantities of information for brief periods of time. Even weirder was that I knew I was going to be selected for the humiliating whiteboard. So my classmates showed me how to solve the problem, and then I confidently scribbled down the formulas and solution on the board, not having a clue as to what I was doing.
Please welcome Miss Karma.
She probably has the brightest mind in the class. I have no comprehension of her often-asked questions. That’s how I know she’s smart. Plus, the professor always listens to Karma and discusses the deep mysteries of trig with her.
After exhibiting my trig skills on the whiteboard, I sat back down next to Karma who leaned over and asked “Can you show me what you did? I can’t read your writing.”
Was she insulting my penmanship? Or was she complimenting me by thinking I could help her?
I took it as a compliment.
I said, “Honestly, you don’t want my help. I have no clue why I wrote down what I did.”
She gave me a weird look of unbelief. “But you seem so smart”.
I told her that I really wasn’t as bright as I appeared, but she would have none of it. She said that she knew I was smart and just needed to grasp this concept before whizzing up and away.
I wanted to believe her.
I mean I like compliments. Even at my mature age of 23. Especially when some actually smart college girl thinks I’m smart.
After the emotional and mental abuse suffered at the cruel hands of my trig assignments, I needed someone to believe in me. I needed support and encouragement from someone – even if they were deceived by the illusion of my intelligence.
“Let me tutor you.”
Wait. What did you say?
“I have lots of free time, and I want to tutor you. Plus helping you will make me smarter.”
The logic of the last part made sense in that she had (non-creepy) ulterior motive in wanting to tutor me.
I have to accept her offer; because I have to pass this class.
When tomorrow evening rolls around, I’m going to accept Karma’s offer. Like the cool guy that I am, I’ll walk up and confidently ask her for her number – for tutoring of course.
If only all the smart college girls wanted to tutor me while thinking I was smart.
Actually, I’d be happy if a few of all the college girls just thought I was cool.