The best medicine

I'm so familiar with the adage that laughter is the best medicine that I sometimes forget how well it works.

I opened my teaching evaluations for the fall semester a couple of days ago, and to say I was disappointed would be a really serious understatement. I'm used to getting what I consider "mediocre" evaluations—I'm the language teacher in an engineering department, which puts me right up there with pond scum and lepers in the students' opinion, so if my evaluations aren't stellar, I usually shake it off.
But these were doubly disappointing because such a large percentage of the students rated me at the C level on most of the questions and several wrote some fairly searing comments. (Okay, one wrote a really nice one and a couple of them were such nonsense as to be laughable, clearly the effluence of students who didn't want to take responsibility for their own sloth, but still....) So I haven't been a happy camper for a couple of days.

The department has a hole in staffing right now that I've been asked before if I would consider filling, but I've hesitated for a couple of reasons. The current opening has turned attention back to me, and the somewhat younger administrator who would be my direct supervisor dropped by my office this afternoon to test the water with me about it.

"Might as well, think about that job," I said, trying to sound casual. "I'm obviously not very good at this one!"

The response was explosive laughter. The YA has worked with me for years in a number of capacities, and while he's been in a position a couple of times to suggest ways to get along better with the students, in the long run he has shown a lot of appreciation for my work. He clearly wasn't willing to buy the criticism of the current crop of students about my abilities.

Turns out all I really needed was a good, redheaded belly laugh.