I study 2D animation. My university doesn’t require a portfolio to apply, only grades. This results in some people who don’t know how to do art but have good grades applying to art school and then dropping a year in because they thought the degree would be easy before realizing how incredibly rigorous the school’s workload is, even with relearning fundamentals — or in some cases, straight-up having to learn fundamentals for the first time — for a full quarter. The sophomore population can drop dramatically within a year.

Enter [Student]. [Student] is a 2D animation student with a minor in illustration. He is also horrible at taking feedback. I don’t mean that he throws a hissy fit; he is actually fairly nice outside of classes. I mean that he doesn’t actually apply critique or feedback to what we need him to do. 

In my very first project with him as a team member, we were taking an effects class and needed to animate a flaming arrow flying through the air and landing in the water, leaving a smoke trail — within three weeks. 

I was assigned the role of the group leader. In assigning tasks, having seen [Student]’s projects up to that point, I wasn’t super trusting that he could do the other effects and gave him the arrow. 

He gave back a file where the arrow slowed at the end when it hit the water. I liked where it originated, so I asked if he could make it a bit quicker at the end and give us a new version. This was a very simple task by any animator’s standards; you would remove a few drawings at the end.

After two days, [Student] gave us a file that moved far too evenly throughout. Checking, he had actually added frames to the rest of the file. Maybe he had somehow misunderstood. I told him that while I appreciated it, I actually had just meant to take out a few drawings at the end. Explicit instructions. Surely this couldn’t be messed up?

Nope. He added drawings. The arrow was also too stiff. These changes took him another two days. At this point, we were actually behind since we needed the arrow to do any of the other effects, and we had a very short time to get this project done. I asked him to please hand over the file, and I gave it to one of the other animators to redo.

This task also took him another day. At this point, he’d wasted almost a whole workweek on what was supposed to be the simplest part of the animation — which the animator who fixed it did in an hour.

He never attended a single one of our supplementary meetings, either. Not one. 

The professor complimented us on how well our final had progressed from the original version she’d seen and how she liked the path of the arrow and where it originated from. So, it seems like she gave credit where it wasn’t due.

However, something [Student] had missed on the day that the final was assigned (because he was conspicuously absent) was that the group leader was always in communication with the professor… including a final report after the project had ended, giving an explanation of what each team member had done.

Guys… that email might’ve been professional, but it was absolutely brutal. I gave honest and glowing reviews to my other teammates, who absolutely knocked it out of the park with both the amount of work they did and the quality. 

To give you an idea of how it looked, I was saying stuff like, “[Classmate A] did a super job with communication! [Classmate B] made it to all of our extra meetings and redid an entire section of the animation after feedback! [Classmate C] was proactive about saying she had nothing to do because she was waiting on [Classmate B] and asked if there was anything else she could do!” in my intro sentence for each classmate.

Then, I got to [Student], and that segment started with a, “[Student] finished the work, but…” 

This project was worth fifty percent of the grade. It was a big project because it was supposed to show just how much we’d improved from the start of class.

[Student] didn’t fail — some professors are too nice and grade it solely on whether they fulfilled the criteria here — but he didn’t pass with flying colors, either.

This happened about ten years ago at my (American) university. I enrolled in a class that two friends also happened to enroll in — an elective for our major. The professor told us straight off the bat that our entire grade would be based on two exams that would be open-book, and we could collaborate with anyone else in the class, as long as we cited that we did so. Additionally, it was the kind of exam where you could submit it as many times as you wanted before the deadline. [Professor]’s rule, though, was that he’d grade easiest on the first try and much tougher with each subsequent try. Fair enough.

Now, some background on this professor. I’m not defending him, but I do think this context is important. He immigrated to the States from another country where women are seen as inferior, and the expectations of women are to be meek and quiet — maybe less so nowadays, but definitely more so when he was growing up.

In class one day, a female student challenged the professor. He argued back, she admitted he had made a good point, and he said to her:

Professor: “You are very agreeable. You’d make a great wife.”

At this point, I probably should have reported him for sexism. However, we all apparently let it slide. He was in his late sixties and he had tenure, so I think we all brushed it aside as harmless; hindsight is twenty-twenty. I am female, by the way.

Fast forward a few weeks into the semester, and the first exam was given to us. My male friend and I did the test together. We submitted it on the same day. At the bottom of my test, I wrote, “Worked with [Male Friend],” because I wanted to follow [Professor]’s rules.

A few days later, we all got our first attempt at the test back. [Male Friend] scored the equivalent of about a C. (Remember, he had further chances to improve.)

My test had a big fat zero at the top with the words “CHEATER” written on it. I was shocked. I obviously stayed after class and asked why this was written on my test, and [Professor] started screaming at me.

Professor: “I HATE LIARS! I HATE PEOPLE LIKE YOU! YOU ARE SCUM! YOU ARE A LIAR!”

I could not believe what I was hearing. I was sobbing. explaining that he SAID (and it was in the syllabus) that we could work with other students.

Me: “You said — and it was in the syllabus — that we could work with other students! Where did I cheat?!”

[Professor] grabbed my paper and underlined the first five words of ONE question where both [Male Friend] and I had started off the paragraph saying something like, “The reason that we are seeing these results is…” And that was it.

Me: “Why do you think I cheated and not [Male Friend]?”

But [Professor] would not listen to me. He just continued to insult me until I left.

My university was SUPER strict about plagiarism and cheating. We got emails around once a week about the Honor Council. All the emails said that anyone caught cheating would be reported to the Honor Council and sit trial. So, I went to their office and reported myself. They were all confused.

Council Member: “Wait. You’re reporting yourself? Not the professor?”

Me: *Calmly* “I was accused and given a zero without any evidence, so I want to sit trial.”

Council Member: *Incredulously* “No student has ever asked for a trial!”

But I was following the University rules and I was confident I would win.

Needless to say, [Professor] was not happy. He pulled me aside after the next class and screamed at me yet again.

Professor: “These are my rules in my class, and I decide the grades, not the Honor Council!”

Me: “That’s not the university’s policy. If you thought I was cheating, you should have gone to them. Since you didn’t, I did.”

He was livid and tried to bully me to back down, but I didn’t.

We had the trial, and I obviously won. At the end of the semester, I organized a meeting with the Dean of the school and filed a formal sexism complaint against [Professor]. The Dean, also incredulous, promised to launch a formal investigation into this professor and would be meeting with him to discuss.

I’m sure that nothing happened besides a slap on the wrist, but even a slap on the wrist was worth it.

I’m taking a test in my Biology 102 class. The last question is an essay question on fungi. I’ve been fascinated by mushrooms since I was a kid, and I know A LOT about them. I fill the space provided and then the back of the page. Finding no more space in which I can write, I go up to the professor and ask for a sheet of paper.

Professor: “Why do you need some paper?”

Me: “I’m not done writing my answer to the last question.”

Professor: “Yes, you are.”

In my first semester of college, my roommate and I have the same class at 8:00 am. For the first few weeks, we get ready and walk there together. Then, one day, it’s about 7:45, and [Roommate] is still sleeping.

Me: “Hey, you might want to wake up. Class starts in a few minutes.”

Roommate: “Oh, my God, how rude are you?! I’m an adult. If I want to skip class and sleep in, I will. You’re not my mom! Don’t ever wake me up again!”

Me: “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you weren’t going. I won’t worry about you anymore.”

That and a few other things [Roommate] does make me realize I do not like her all that much. We stop trying to be friends and just live together. She often skips class or shows up late, and I never say anything about class again.

Another few weeks go by, and it’s an exam day. I have gotten into the habit of leaving early and going to a coffee shop in the morning. Even on the days that [Roommate] makes it on time, she is still asleep when I leave in the morning, so I don’t think anything about her still being asleep at 7:15 when I leave. I get back home a few hours later and she is asleep. I think she must have gone back to bed after class.

A few days later, I come home.

Roommate: “What the f*** is wrong with you?! We had a test on Friday and I missed it! Now I’m failing! Why didn’t you wake me up?! I can’t believe how rude you are that you can’t take a second out of your morning to wake me up for class.”

Me: “How was I supposed to know to wake you up? The last time I tried, you yelled and told me to never do so again. You’re always still asleep when I leave in the morning, so I didn’t know you were not going to get up.”

Roommate: “Not waking me up did not apply to test days! You could have at least told me about the test!”

Me: “It’s on the schedule and was announced in class for the week prior. You should have known we had a test.”

Roommate: “Obviously not, since I wasn’t awake. Now I’m probably going to have to retake the class, and it’s all your fault!”

Me: “Okay, well, I have lunch plans. See you later.”

She never missed another class again.

During my college career, we had a final done on class computers. We got two hours to do our things, the teacher would grade us, and then the TA would lock the workstation, I assume so that they could save our work should someone want to challenge their grade, and reset the workstation for the next student.

I was good at that course, but sadly, during the exam, I had a visit from the blackout monster. I couldn’t remember how to do anything.

After two hours, the teacher came over to grade it.

Teacher: “Oh, wow. This is… this is not a good final. What happened, [My Name]? You’re usually one of my best students in the class.”

Me: “Sorry, I know, but I had a blackout.”

Teacher: “Oh, no. That won’t do; you’ll get a three out of twenty if we leave it like that.”

She turned to the TA in front of the classroom.

Teacher: “Hey, [TA]! Do not lock this PC. There is something wrong with it. [My Name] gets an extra hour to make up for the mistake.”

She turned back to me.

Teacher: “Now you can try and get some more points.”

Me: “Thanks, but I doubt an hour will do much good; I can’t remember anything.”

Teacher: “Won’t hurt to try, right?”

After a while, the teacher passed me again to grade the person next to me. She looked over to my screen and then spoke to the student in the biggest fake stage whisper.

Teacher: “Ah, yes, I see you used the Tabbed Pane solution for question two.” *The one I happened to be struggling with* “This is the correct method; you should get full marks for this solution.”

She saw me struggling some more.

Teacher: “Yes, I see you clearly didn’t have any problems finding the Tabbed Pane option — you know, the thing you’ll find if you click on the third button from the left on the toolbar — and then you clearly chose the fifth option from the drop-down list. Good on you.”

That not-so-subtle hint got me over my blackout and I managed to raise my grade to a thirteen out of twenty. Thank you, [Teacher], for realizing I’d had a blackout!