How quickly one can become deflated. As you know, I work as a Writing Tutor as well as teaching a class. (My twin sister also works in the Writing Lab.) In the Writing Lab, we can't make every paper an "A" paper. Frankly, that's not our job. Our job is to answer specific questions asked by the students. If the students asks me to look at commas and fragments, I'm not going to do a dang thing about their content. That, I'm afraid, is up to them to fix. Bathroom gossip is the worst, isn't it? Not only do I find it kindasorta disgusting when people talk through the stalls to each other, often what they say isn't nice at all. And they can't see who's listening. Long story short, one woman told another that if she was to go into the Writing Lab, don't bother "if you get the short haired twin." (That's me, by the way.) A professor marked her down on a paper, and, of course, her grade is directly my fault. I'm a sensitive...
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