life as understood

Yesterday at 1:30, an international student came into work to be tutored. That’s my work, not his. Anyway, he came in, and I think he was Korean, judging by name and complexion. The point is, he had written down on the schedule that his instructor for English 1010 was “M. Twain.” Naturally, I was curious. This was the first time I had heard of such a lecturer in our department. For clarification, as I was filling out his consultation form, I asked him directly who his 1010 instructor was. “Mark Twain,” was the accented, yet clear reply. “That seems highly unlikely,” I responded, but he didn’t hear me. Just as well. I didn’t need to make any enemies, and jealousy for this student had already begun to swell within me. This unsuspecting Korean exchange student —probably not even an English major—was being taught basic composition by possibly the greatest and most prolific writer in American history. Not only that, but I imagined that the class itself was a riot.

Still, a sort of nagging feeling existed. I couldn’t help but recall that not only did the father of American literature not actually teach 1010 in our department, but nowhere in the entire university. Also, he had been dead for over 90 years.

Having no alternative, I wrote down “M. Twain” on the consultation form and sent him in with his tutor, but not before glancing back at the large poster of Twain behind my desk. The poster bore the quote “The difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning-bug.” That was especially true for foreigners, I surmised. For the rest of the day, I went on a crusade to find out which of the firefly grad students who teach 1010 had been parading around as Sam Clements. Otherwise, this misled student wouldn’t get credit for his tutoring appointment. The impostor was probably Adam, since he has a mustache. Not only did Twain have a mustache, but generally speaking, mustache guys are sneaky.