Insincere Confessions

This probably comes as a surprise to no one, but, as it turns out, I am a bad person.

This semester I'm teaching two different sections of my Intro. to Academic Writing course (something that I am feeling less and less well-qualified to do) back-to-back on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I am coming to realize that this is ridiculously complicated. It is complicated because I am an idiot and I cannot recall what I've said or announced to which section at which time. Among other things.

On the first day of class, last Monday, in my second section, while I was taking role, I happened upon a very strange looking, very foreign name that I could not for the life of me even begin to fathom how to pronounce. I looked up, helplessly, and - to my eternal embarrassment - a lovely young woman, originally from China, intuited my dilemma and pronounced her name on my behalf. I asked her, twice, to repeat it, in a vain attempt to master it myself through audible exposure, only to be forced to drop my head in shame and admit that it was beyond my best efforts.

"You can call me 'Elle,'" she said patiently - the kind of patience that announces to the audience, I am being patient with this sad, mildly offensive man. Or maybe that was just her accent.

"Elle? As in E-L-L-E? Elle?"

"Yes."

"I will. I know it's a cop-out, but I'm going to do it. I'm going to call you 'Elle.'"

"It's OK."

"Thanks."

On Wednesday I arrived early to class and attempted to make small talk with the students who were already there. We talked about how exciting Tuesdays are (they aren't) and whether anyone had Big Plans for Thursday (no one did) as the rest of the students arrived, slowly, already broken by the imagined weight of a semester that had only just begun. All at once, as the class was now quite full, I stumbled upon an opportunity to impress upon them the fact that I care about who they are as individuals (which is not entirely bull-shit) and seized it:

"Elle, right?"

I had recognized her immediately and, due to the length of our exchange on Monday, I assume, recalled her "name."

The girl looked at me, shocked. I looked at her, confident. The rest of the class was going about their business, unloading bags and checking their phones, until she spoke:

"Um, it's 'Ella,' but that was a really close guess.... We haven't met before?"

She looked at me, enquiringly. I looked at her, confused. Confused as hell. The rest of the class was paying attention.

"'Ella'? Not 'Elle,' as in E-L-L-E?"

"No." She laughed - a sincere laugh, but betraying a hint of nervousness and perhaps irritation at not being let in on a joke.

But the joke was on me. I looked at my role, frantically searching for the indecipherable name, and realized in an instant that Elle was in my second section. This was my first.

I looked up again at Ella. She was probably of Chinese decent, at least. Maybe Korean. Or Japanese?

"I'm a good guesser, I guess. Weird! You ... uh.... You must just remind me of someone else." I laughed, uncomfortable, and began to shuffle papers. The class chuckled, good-naturedly. Or did they suspect?

"That is weird," said Ella, already forgetting my super-human ability to conjure a stranger's name from the ether as she unzipped her bag. She had a perfect American - Utahn, at that - accent.

And I bailed. I took role and added Ella to my list of not-yet-registered students and pretended as though nothing had ever happened.

As though I'm not a racist. Because I'm not.

Just a bad person.

Elle didn't even show up to my second section.