Professor Steve: Hello, class. Today’s lecture topic is a good one. Let me just show you this video here on the old projector.

Me: Oh god.

Professor Steve: Let me see, here. Let me just, uh … Okay … Got some wires here …

Me: Try plugging that wire —

Professor Steve: No, no, I’ve got this. Seems to be the projector is on the fritz. Gosh darned thing.

Me: Maybe you could just not show the video?

Professor Steve: Don’t be silly. I just have to — ah! Aha. Video works. Excellent.

Me: Sound.


Professor Steve: Right. Audio. Let me just… Here, let me try simply turning the audio up on my laptop, like I do every
time. That’ll probably work.

Me: Yeah, probably.

Professor Steve: Dang. I guess if I … Hmm … If I flip all these buttons … I hope you guys aren’t paying thousands of dollars for this!

Me: Me too.


Yeah, I don’t know what to do either, man. I’m sitting here, really uncomfortably, in the ninth row of the lecture hall. I’m far enough away to be of absolutely no help, yet close enough to witness one utterly catastrophic struggle for technological dominance. Watching from the seats becomes a continually changing thought process.

First, I pray my professor’s decision to play a video for the class will actually go smoothly, which is a fruitless venture that has never yet come true. Don’t even imagine this will ever occur. You don’t want to disappoint yourself.

Once I’ve let go of my delusions of success, I can settle into a new type of denial: one where I assume my baby boomer professor can fix anything running on electricity in less than half an hour. As it turns out, a Ph.D and more than 50 years of life experience only depletes one’s ability to understand input/output cables. I can sit in my seat and hope all I want, but no amount of pressing random buttons is going to make that video appear on the projector screen. Eventually, I just have to come to terms with the fact that few things are less comfortable than sitting in your seat in a lecture hall during this train wreck.

After this certain level of acceptance, I’m filled with the benevolent desire to save the day, or at least get the hell on with class. I could rise up from my seat, stroll gallantly up to the mess of cables and electronics, press a few buttons and — voilà — I would receive a full two-minute standing ovation from the audience before retaking my seat (after a curtain call, of course). This is a lecture hall of 400 people. If even 5 percent of people are tech-savvy, that means there are 20 silent dickheads that could get this video up in a heartbeat. Unfortunately, I’m not one of that 5 percent, and for all my heroic fantasizing, I know that. I slink back into my seat.

In doing so, my frustration festers. There’s a certain point — I think it’s the five-minute mark — where I become torn between respect for my professor’s blind determination and irritation for his blind refusal to accept the fact that it’s not going to freaking work, man. I’ve yet to see a professor actually cut his losses in any reasonable amount of time and return to actually teaching things into my brain.

Equally important, the long wait for technological success gives me the five minutes it takes me to realize that, god damn it, I’m taking out student loans to watch a YouTube video. Would I watch it if I weren’t paying for a $2 billion education? No. But do I still feel silly anyway? Well. And that, really, becomes the final mental destination of every lecture hall video attempt.