I returned to class yesterday for the first time since Winter Break ended. I was just as excited to be back in the classroom (or in this case, the computer lab) this time around as I was for my class in the fall.

I was, however, a bit more nervous about this one: It is a software class, and technology is not my strongest suit (duh, that’s why I’m going to classes for it!) But the bigger problem, the one that cost me at least one hour of sleep Sunday night, was that the school’s computer labs are all Macs, and I, dear readers, am a PC. Actually, let me qualify that statement a bit: I use a PC. Generally speaking, I think people who define themselves by the type of computer they use need to get a life, though I must admit that the expression, “I’m a PC”, is quite effective in getting across to a baffled Mac-lab software teacher the fact that you have no idea what he’s talking about.

The class started off well enough: The teacher was energetic and engaging, and seemed to really know what he was talking about. He encouraged us to ask questions, to never be afraid to raise our hands, etc., etc., etc., so I felt pretty comfortable the first time he started demonstrating something on the screen and I didn’t catch it. I follow directions for the most part, so I raised my hand and asked him what he did and how he did it. Imagine my surprise when he teased me about having to ask!

Fortunately, I’ve got a pretty good sense of humor (I think), and a background in theater, so I was able to laugh it off with a witty retort of my own and move on.

Alas, shortly thereafter, I found myself lost on some stupid thing again (and when I say stupid, please try to understand that stupidity is relative.) If you’ve used a PC all your life, then operating a Mac is not actually “intuitive”–that’s just the popular byword all you Macs out there like to try shame all us PC-users with. Well, I looked up  the word intuitive in the dictionary and one of the definitions reads “readily learned or understood<software with an ~ interface>.” I therefore respectfully disagree: Macs are not intuitive, at least not for me.

Okay, back to the panties. The teacher told us to ask if we didn’t understand something, and I took him at his word. There were several more things I didn’t understand, so I asked several more questions, and each time I did, he teased me a little more about the gaps in my knowledge, and each time the class tittered and giggled at my expense. (And my classmates in this class were, on the whole, a lot older than the teens and twenty-somethings in my last class; you get a whole room of aging baby boomers and grannies laughing at you, then you know you’re screwed.)

I was getting more and more frustrated, and more and more embarrassed with each question. Finally, I just gave up, but the woman next to me took pity on me and kindly allowed me to pester her with my questions. Unfortunately, I made her miss something she didn’t understand, which made me feel bad, so I sucked it up and asked the teacher one last question, for which he teasingly chided me that I shouldn’t have been bothering my classmate, but should be asking him instead. I replied (laughingly–never let ’em see you cry), “Well, she doesn’t tease me when I ask questions.” He made a gesture like I’d wounded him to the quick with my comment, but I was beyond caring.

Why do some teachers feel the need to embarrass their students for asking questions? I walked out of that classroom close to tears, fuming and angry about my first day in that class for pretty much the rest of the day. I fantasized what I would say to the teacher if we were alone in a dark alley (and I had a large can of mace in one hand and a cellphone with 9-1-1 on speed dial in the other): “You big, arrogant jerk! I used to be a teacher, too, you know, and I always told my students that the only stupid questions are the ones you never ask. Why do you think I came here in the first place? To learn, or to be the butt of your jokes? What kind of teacher are you? If you’re so talented at what you do, then why are you teaching at a technical community college in the first place? Grrrrrr!”

When my husband returned home, he was eager to hear about my class, but with our children present, I didn’t feel I could open that can of worms (I feared the expletives might damage their tender ears). But he kept pressing me and pressing me to tell him what was wrong. Finally, I blew, tears practically welling up in my eyes as I told him how the professor had spent most of the class teasing me about my shortcomings (I swear, I almost had to check to see if I had on Disney Princess underwear–almost.) He got that look in his eye, the one that always tells me, “Julia, you’re over-reacting. Come down off the ledge, let’s talk this over as if you were a rational human being, and see what needs to be fixed with this situation.”  Translation: Put on your big-girl panties and deal.

But I was in no mood to deal at that moment. I was in a mood to kick and scream, to rail against the teacher’s casual cruelty to me and against the general injustice of a world that cannot agree to all use the same type of computers. I know what needs to be fixed (at least with me; the teacher’s needs are a whole ‘nother story.) My husband is right: I need to put on my big-girl panties and go to work. I need to beef up my Mac skills, plain and simple. I need to work harder than anyone else in that class to show him that teasing is not going to stop me from showing up in class and asking him questions. (In fact, it’ll likely just piss me off again and spur me on to even greater heights.)

I will spend extra time in the lab. I will memorize every chapter of the textbook. I will become so damned proficient in this software that I’ll be able to operate it with my eyes closed. (All right, all right–designing stuff with your eyes closed is probably a bad idea, anyway.)

But make no mistake, Professor: it’s on. It is so on. No, wait–they’re on. That’s right, the big-girl panties are on, and they’re coming for you.

Ouch–hang on a second; all that chest-thumping has given me a wedgie…