Tanya Stanley

How Can I Help YOU?

Driving from the parking lot of my apartment complex to the parking lot directly across the street, I arrive at San Hyacinth Junior College seven minutes after nine in the morning.  Seven minutes late but well worth it—Detective Bravura will be driving down the side street in three minutes.  Looking at the available staff parking spaces, I notice all the students’ cars waiting for their very own parking tickets.  I find a spot, and I wave and smile at Bravura as he passes by.  As I walk through the door of the tutoring center, the craziness begins.

“Good morning!  How are you feeling today?” Allison, the administrative assistance asks as she does every day robotically.

“I’m okay, and how are you?” I reply in a please do not tell me about your daughter or husband today plea.

Allison replies, of course, with a long drawn-out story about her teenage daughter’s friend’s mother’s brother, and I wish I had used the back door to come in to work today.  I hope her complaints do not last too long because I have a monstrous stack of paperwork to complete and probably thirty emails to read, respond to, to forward, and to print.

“Last night, Ken…”

Oh no, not another story about Ken—Allison’s daughter’s friend’s mother’s brother getting drunk at dinner.  I have no clue who Ken is; I do not even know Allison’s daughter.  My bag is heavy, and I know if I sit down I will be stuck there for at least forty-five minutes.  She will go on and on and on, so I pray my cell-phone rings, the office phone rings, or we have a fire drill—even though we have never had a fire drill in the three years I worked here.  A student arrives and needs to discuss physics tutoring.

“Hi, can I help you?”again I ask.  I remember him.  Either he has short-term memory loss—seriously—or he refuses to accept that we do not have physics tutoring every day.  Now I wish I could hear more about Allison’s drunken whoever-he-is’ story.  Anything would be better than the same discussion about why the college cannot fund tutoring in all the courses offered in order to meet all of his particular needs.

“The online tutoring center that San Hyacinth Junior College pays for is available, and it has physics tutoring twelve hours a day, five days a week.”  Will that fit into your schedule?  I doubt it.  “Have a seat at the computer, and I will show you how to access the online tutoring,” I say to the always irate student that the college is out to get.

“No thanks.  I don’t have time.  I have to go to work,” the always-annoying student says.

I do not understand.  You come to the tutoring center to request tutoring in physics, and you complain that the center does not have enough tutors to fit YOUR needs.  I try to teach you how to access the online support, but now you do not have time to receive tutoring.  Do you want help or not?  Sometimes it takes a little more effort to get what you need or want.  Welcome to the club.

“Okay, well here’s a flyer with the steps to access the tutoring.  Have a good day,” I say with a giant smile on my face wishing I could remove the student with such force he understands the basic concept of physics.

I finally turn on my computer, and I only have fourteen emails to answer.  “Delete, delete, print, awesome, delete,” I say as I automatically delete the annoying forwarded messages that swear I will be rich or find God if I send the message to ten of my friends including the friend that sent the message to me in one minute.  I respond to the faculty members and those blog-loving people around the nation, and I finally start to shorten the tower of paperwork to my left.

“Samantha, line one.”

“This is Samantha, how can I help you?” I ask the second time this morning.

“Hey Samantha,” I hear in a wispy voice “this is Jessica.  I’m not going to make it in today because I’m exhausted.”

Welcome to the club.  I finished an overwhelmingly thick novel, wrote a seven-page essay, and finally went to sleep around four this morning, but I made it to work today.  After working full-time and going to graduate school, I lost any sympathy I might have had for people working ten hours a week and taking twelve hours a week including those exhausting courses like kickboxing, walking for fitness, and yoga.   

“I’m sorry Jessica.”  I am not sure what gave it away, the whispering or the fact that you are already forty-five minutes late.  I was not sure you could whisper since I always have to tell you to lower your voice at least three times a day.  Forget it.  “Okay, that’s fine.  Get some sleep, and thanks for calling.”

“You’re welcome,” she says sounding somewhat more cheerful and awake than before.

Jessica is a wonderful tutor—loud, but good.  I return to the stack of paperwork and a student comes into the center needing some form of help.  

“Hi, how can I help you?” I ask as I walk over to the student who I know wants tutoring right now even though tutoring does not begin until ten o’clock.

“I need help in math.”

“Which math course do you need help with?”  I ask her without expecting a definite answer to my question.

“I don’t know?”  Shocking.  How do you not know what math course you need help with?  The semester began six weeks ago, and you still do not know what course you are taking. 

“Do you have your book?” I ask her.

“No, I never use it.” 

Seriously.  What do you mean you do not use your textbook?  Maybe if you read your book and completed the homework assignments, you would not need any help, and if you did read your book and did the homework, you might know the name of the math course.  

“Do you have your syllabus?”

“What’s that?”

Do you know who your professor is?  I doubt it.  “Do you have your notes?” I ask.

“No, I don’t take notes.  I don’t need to because this class is really easy.”

Right. 

“A tutor can’t help you unless you have your book or your notes.  Please come back soon so we can help you.”

She stares blankly at me and says, “Okay,” and leaves never to return.

Makyala arrives with two students she found in the library on her way up the stairs.

 “Good morning Makayla,” I say with a giant smile on my face.

“Hey.  They are studying anatomy, and I told them if they need help one of the science tutors will be here at ten.” 

“Awesome.  Thanks Makayla.”  

I wonder what Bravura is doing.  I wonder what Hank is doing.  Bravura said he wanted to go to lunch with me but he did not say which restaurant.  Hank and I never go to lunch anymore.  We just have the same pointless conversations that end with an automatic I love you and I love you too when the conversation ends.  Bravura is extremely attractive and irresistible, but he is married like me.  I used to find Hank extremely attractive until he cheated on me with his secretary.  I have only been married for three years, eight months, and two days—not that I am counting—and I already feel suffocated and isolated at the same time.  Hank tries to make it up to me every once in a while, but when I pull away from him emotionally or physically, he ignores me for at least three days.  Bravura’s wife lives in Buffalo, and my husband lives in a fantasy world where we are still the perfectly happy couple.  Fat chance. 

The students log in, and Makayla reminds me that she is my first choice as my replacement when my faculty position opens.  A police officer and a professor—perfect.

I leave the center to meet with the deans to discuss a pilot program I want to initiate for the students who are in college-preparatory math courses.  I completed the research two months ago, and I spoke with several representatives from other junior colleges to verify the cost-effectiveness and student success rates.  The students watch a recording of the professor giving the lecture, so they can stop the lesson momentarily and the mentor can explain the content further before the students move on to the next section.

“The program sounds interesting, but I don’t think we have money in the budget,” says Dean Oliver. 

“I think we can fund the program, but we may not be able to find a professor to participate in the pilot,” Dean Skinner says.

“The Title V grant and the Center for Student Development can partially fund the program.  We have thirty thousand dollars set aside for innovative initiatives”—this should be one of them—“each year which is provided by the grant, and Student Development claims to have over two million dollars available,” I say waiting for another counter-productive refusal.  As head of the math department, Dean Skinner, you could strongly recommend one of the professors to participate.

“We will have to ask the Vice-President of Instruction,” says Dean Oliver.

So, in other words, nope, never, not in this lifetime, no.  I know the VPI, the all-knowing, all-powerful VPI, and he refuses to go against traditional methods of learning, management, and financing.  Forget talking to the VPI;  I am going to my office to contact the President of Instruction.

Walking back, I feel a sense of urgency.  No more interruptions.  I have to email the President before the deans contact the VPI.

            “Welcome back.  How was your meeting?” Allison asks hoping she will find an opening to finally tell me about Ken.

            “Not so good.” I say.  “I have to send over a report right now, but I will be over there in a few minutes.”  

I open the center’s attendance report, and I notice that SHE came in.  Why was SHE here?  I banned HER last night.

“Allison, why was SHE allowed in here while I was gone?” I ask as I point to HER name. 

“She came to apologize for last night.” Not she…SHE.

“So why did SHE stay here for two hours?” I try to ask calmly.

“To work on her paper.”

Oh, you mean the same paper SHE came in last night to work on.  The same paper that led to the giant mess on the table and floor I had to clean up last night--that paper. 

“Did you receive the email I sent to everyone stating why SHE has lost her privileges?” I ask knowing Allison can sense my irritation.

“I didn’t think it was a big deal to let her stay if she was calm.”

Not a big deal.  Are you kidding me?  Last night, SHE screamed at me.  SHE tossed popcorn everywhere.  SHE blatantly disrespected me.  

“How can I help you?” I asked.

“I need help with my paper.”

“The tutor is with another student right now, but I will go ahead and start the session and she will be over here in a few minutes,” I said trying to help her even though I do not have to tutor anyone.

“That’s okay.  I need someone more qualified,” SHE said.

More qualified.  More qualified!  Do you mean more qualified than actually being a part-time English professor here.  “Excuse me?” I asked hoping I heard HER wrong.

“I’ll wait for the other girl.”

You mean the other girl who six hours in freshmen composition courses.  No problem.  “Who is your professor?” I ask so I can send them an email about HER.

“I don’t know.  She teaches on Wednesday nights.”

That narrows it down.  I walk over to the more qualified tutor and tell her to take her time with the student she is helping.  Fifteen minutes pass by, and SHE gets up impatiently—hey, I tried to help.

I remind Allison “SHE slammed her books down.  SHE threw popcorn everywhere—the free popcorn we give to students who use the facility.”  Enough said.  “Do not allow her to come back in here while I am out of the office.”

“Hello.  Yes sir,” Allison quickly answers the phone.  “Line two Samantha.”

“This is Samantha, how can I help you?”

“Hey Sammie, it’s Brav…we need to talk.”

We need to talk.  Talk about what?  Where we are going to eat lunch?  You sound way too serious.  Nothing has happened yet, so why do we need to have the talk?

“What’s up?” I ask without any anxiety detected in my voice.

“Bonnie is flying in tomorrow night, and I want you to meet her.”

Meet her.  Why on Earth would I want to meet her?  What the hell is wrong with you?  Without too long of an awkward silence passing by, I say “Sorry Bravura (not Brav for short, for fun, or anything with a positive regard) Hank and I are rekindling our romance, so tomorrow is not good for me” (or any other day this century).

Bravura’s long awkward silence tells me he is disappointed in my response—hey, join the club.  Did you honestly think I would want to meet your wife?

“Bravura, I have an idea.  Why don’t we have a double date?  I’ll bring Hank.

“Hello?”

Revision Account:  “How Can I Help You?”

          At lunch with my parents, I told them about a crazy woman who came into my center one night.  My mom could not believe this actually happened at a college, so I decided to follow a student from a past creative writing seminar and focus my fiction scene around my job.  I hosted a fiction workshop the week our poetry submissions were due, so I felt a little stressed about where the scene would go.  Many students laughed at the protagonist’s dialogue versus her thoughts; however, some of students felt unsure of where the dialogue ended and the thoughts began, and they suggested putting all of the thoughts in italics.  I believed there were too any thoughts in the piece to overload the pages with italicized sentences.   I followed the format of the novels I read, and kept the thoughts in plain text.  A suggestion was made to add in a love interest for the protagonist.  Adding Bravura into the text highlighted an internal conflict on a much deeper level than having a few idiots surround her every day.

I submitted my poem to the UHCL Writing Center’s online service, and the tutor found the scene hilarious, sophisticated with the addition of the protagonist’s thoughts to her dialogue, and suggested I stay with creative writing.  He also recommended I try adding descriptions of the administrative assistant, the tutors, the students, and Bravura, but I do not want to add too much exposition to the scenes.  I am still trying to add dialogue so the reader can picture the characters and the center.  I have fifteen pages for the entire piece, but I did not want to go over the maximum number of pages for the assignment.  I remember Minot saying one of the hardest things to do during revision is to cut entire paragraphs—it was more difficult than I thought.  I have changed the conclusion four times as of today, but I am still not wholly satisfied.  I have tried ending the scene with the protagonist’s love interest calling and saying his wife was coming into town and asking if the protagonist wanted to meet her.  I tried having the protagonist agree with Bravura’s request; I tried having her deny the request outright and return to her husband.  I attempted having her come into contact with the crazy popcorn-throwing woman again.  Nothing I have tried so far is what I want.  I plan on meeting with students from the class, in our new writing group, during the summer to hear their responses and suggestions.

          I would like to add more internal conflict within the protagonist.  I want the reader to see her frustration with the irresponsible students and employees she deals with.  I want to add dialogue between the protagonist and Bravura and add dialogue between the protagonist and her husband.  I tried a contrasting paragraph between Bravura and Hank, but I think it has too much exposition.  I did like showing why the married protagonist is interested in another man, and I like highlighting the duality of the men in her life.  I believe the scene’s strengths include the dialogue and thoughts and the comedy that stems from both.