My blood started to boil, yet again, at the demeanor of my professor. A man who was in a position of authority, who was no doubt well educated and expert in classic literature, yet surprisingly caustic and opinionated and prejudiced. Ugh. I could hardly tolerate listening to him, and we were only three weeks into the college semester. The raise in his voice brought me back to attention.......

 

"Everyone, I would like to read to you a brief summary of section four," Professor Collins announced. "Raskolnikov visits Sonya in her room. He tells her that her family has been turned out of their building but urges her not to go to help them. He confesses the murders to her. Sonya responds with immense pity and promises to support Raskolnikov and not abandon him. She is astonished when he tells her that his poverty was not the motive. Rather, he says, "I was ambitious to become another Napoleon; that was why I committed a murder." He also confesses that he feels detached from other people and believed, and perhaps still believes, in his superiority over most other people." Professor Collin's then went on to read a few lines from section four of Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment, before discussing the final essay that was due on Monday over the book.

 

"I would like to write about Sonya from a feminist perspective in my paper. Is that topic vantage point alright?" A fellow female student asked.

 

"Well, I'd prefer to see a more serious issue be covered, but if that's what you feel best equipped to write about then go ahead, I suppose." The professor responded. I watched as the girl who asked the question turn her face down towards her open notebook and blush deeply, embarrassed by the professor's response. What a total dickhead, I thought to myself, as I witnessed the exchange.

 

"I wonder if Dostoevsky also thought his character wasn't serious," I whispered to my friend, and roommate, Nickie.

 

"I don't care how much of a jerk he is, I'd get with him in a heartbeat," was Nickie's response. "No talking necessary!" She finished with a hushed laugh. There was no denying Professor Collins was sexy as hell, and in a very commanding way. All the girls wanted him and all the guys wanted to be like him. He was tall, with dark brown short cropped hair and the most unusual color of green eyes that had the uncanny ability to pierce into the very soul of a person. Although he usually wore casual suit jackets and blazers most of the time over a button down shirt, or stylish T-shirt, it was still apparent that his shoulder and arm muscles were well developed, and all the girls in his class always hoped for him to remove his jackets during class sessions so that they could ogle his physique. And, although I sincerely enjoy reading and studying classic literature, I admit that the main reason I enrolled in his class was because I too had heard that Professor Collins was the sexiest man alive. And while the rumors about his physical appearance did in fact turn out to be true, the gossip had failed to advise me that Professor Collins was also an egotistical chauvinist and all around asshole. He not only dismissed almost every one of the female characters of the stories we were required to read as insignificant and trivial, he also frequently belittled and put down the females who attended his class. When any of the girls would work up the courage to remark on something during class, Professor Collins would respond by calling her ideas whimsical, or cute, or sweet, deliberately trying to make her feel inferior. When class first started, I didn't give much attention to his objectionable comments and instead focused on his magnificent face and sculpted body. But, after several weeks of hearing his outrageous opinions and demeaning feedback, I had a hard time even showing up to his class, and even just looking at him was becoming intolerable. I tuned back in to hear what the professor is saying.