Sentence Fragment Review
Composition and Critical Thinking professor Mike Manderlin was in Prospect College’s faculty bathroom stall. Sucking greedily on a sugarless lemon-honey-flavored throat lozenge, his pants coiled around his ankles, reading his wife’s text: “You might want to check out this YMCA workshop for compulsive overeating,” with a link for registration. When he sensed the presence of Mary Beauregard, one of his students, standing just outside the stall’s locked door. How did he know it was her? Was it her familiar breathing, rasping and emphysemic from her chain smoking? Was it her familiar smell of mothballs and cloying talcum powder wafting from her green nicotine-stained skin? Actually, the tipoff was her signature neon pink luggage cart with her matching tote bag and backpack, which he could see beneath the partitioned stall.
“Mary, I know it’s you. You need to leave. Now.”
“Professor Manderlin, I need to talk to you about my grade.”
“What you’re doing is illegal. I could have campus police arrest you. Now I suggest you leave at once.”
“No, not until you explain why I got a C.”
“We can talk about your grade in my office,” he said. “This is not the place.”
“You didn’t even read my essay about my party catering service, did you.”
“Actually, I did read it. You can make one hundred smoked salmon canapés in a half hour. Very impressive. Did you not read my comments?”
“You said you liked my story of becoming one of the industry’s leading catering services, but that my essay was ‘larded’ with grammar errors. Why do you have to use the word ‘larded’? It’s such a demeaning word, and it hurts my self-esteem.”
“We can talk about this later.”
“I don’t think so.”
Mary’s track record was well known. A forty-year-old student. She had been attending the college for more than a decade and had filed so many grievances against the school that she was known as “Scary Mary.” But Mike never imagined she would break into the faculty bathroom and corner an instructor while he was doing his business.
“Mary, you need to leave the men’s room this very instant, before this goes on your record.”
“Not until you give me more feedback.”
She was now gripping the top of the stall’s partition so he could see her thick, stubby fingers. Stacking her tote bag and backpack on top of her luggage cart to make a precarious stepping stool. She had elevated her 250-pound body so that her head was peeking over the stall. Her tight curly jaundiced hair was wet with sweat. She glowered at her instructor behind her black cat eye glasses and blinked her eyes repeatedly. While crinkling her pointy nose.
“You need to help me,” she said, barely able to catch her breath. “I can’t afford to flunk this class again.”
“Get out of here, Mary, before I have you arrested.”
“No. Not until you explain my grade.”
“You want me to explain your grade? Okay. Your fifth-grade-level incoherent chicken scratch is so bad I stay up at night wondering if the college’s mission to educate the masses is a fool’s errand. Your writing is so conspicuously absent of basic critical thinking skills that it makes me want to ram an icepick through my forehead. There. Is that enough explanation for you?”
“You’re a terrible person unworthy of a calling as noble as higher education. I can see you’re incapable of helping me. I’ll leave now.”
“Good idea. And, Mary, I need you to drop my class immediately. If you don’t, I’ll report this incident to campus police and have a restraining order issued against you. Am I clear?”
“I will gladly drop your class. But you should know you have no empathy for your marginal, at-risk students such as myself. I’m going to do some research on Rate My Professor and find someone with more compassion and understanding as I work on completing my education.”
Satisfied with the way she put her professor in his place. She attempted to descend from her makeshift ladder, but she lost her balance and all 250 pounds of her crashed to the ground. Writhing on the tile floor, she shouted that she feared she might have broken several bones and may require a stretcher.
Out of the stall now, Mike looked down at Mary and told her she was going to be fine, but that may need to ice her injuries to reduce possible inflammation.
“Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Help me up.”
“I’m not touching you, Mary. And besides, I’m late for class.”
After his encounter with Mary Beauregard. Mike rushed to his 6 p.m. Critical Thinking class. His students, many of them commuting from a long day at work, were starving at the dinner hour. Because he had a lot of empathy where hunger was concerned, he was lax about the campus-wide no-eating-in-class rules. Sitting at the desks, students were feasting on giant burritos that looked like fluffy pillows. Mike happily imagined sleeping with his head on such a soft burrito, waking up periodically, taking a bite out of his chipotle-infused cushion, resuming sleep, and starting the whole process all over again.
Other students were eating platters of chicken katsu over heaps of white rice drowning in thick brown curry gravy. The spicy curry was so alluring Mike had to muster all his strength not to hover over their plates and scoop mounds of curry into his ravenous mouth.
Some students were gobbling protein bars and washing them down with ice-cold mocha coffee beverages. Topped with white clouds of whipped cream, chocolate chips, rainbow sprinkles, and maraschino cherries.
One resourceful student brought a jar of peanut butter to class and spooned giant gobs of peanut butter on bananas and apple slices.
Another student was eating an oversized hot pastrami sandwich with melted Swiss cheese, mustard, and pickles.
The only thing that stopped Mike from stealing his students’ food with his bare hands and devouring it in front of their terrified faces was the fear that a student would video his piggish spectacle and post the disgusting display on YouTube.
The classroom was so redolent of spices, smoked meats, and vinegar that Mike felt a sharp tingling sensation in his nostrils, and his mouth watered. He look down to make sure there was no drool on his Dacron sport shirt.
In spite of the apples, carrots, and smoked almonds he had wolfed down during his office hour. He was so dizzy with hunger that it was all he could do to not cancel class, run across the street to the Middle Eastern restaurant, and inhale several skewers of chicken kabob dipped in their signature smoked paprika hummus.
Writing Option #2
Defend, refute, or complicate Bloom's assertion in "Against Empathy" that empathy, contrary to popular opinion, is not a virtue in the face of evidence that empathy is a form of "irrational compassion" that can be destructive and inimical to human affairs.
Paul Bloom's Claim That Empathy Has Deficits
One. Empathy is a poor moral guide because it's biased and often looks-based.
Two. Empathy blinds us from utilitarian approaches to policy in favor of feelings approaches.
Three. Empathy is inferior to compassion. The latter desires to help others in the absence of feelings or empathy.
Four. Excessive empathy or "hyper empathy" can be bullying and controlling over others.
Five. Excessive empathy can lead to excessive self-denial and self-abnegation.
Six. Empathy can be selfish, indulgent, unpleasant, and inappropriate when the person is reacting to someone who is suffering (drowning example).
Seven. Empathy leads to emotional burnout.
Eight. Empathy is a liability for doctors who need calm, not empathy, to make their patients feel better.
Sources:
"Why Paul Bloom Is Wrong About Empathy and Morality"
Suggested Outline
Paragraph 1 is your introduction, a summary of Bloom's points.
Paragraph 2 is your agreement or disagreement with Bloom, your thesis.
Paragraphs 3-6 are your supporting paragraphs.
Paragraph 7 is your counterargument-rebuttal section.
Paragraph 8 is your conclusion, a restatement of your thesis.
Writing Option #3
Support, refute, or complicate Malcolm Gladwell's claim that expensive universities are immoral to serve gourmet food to their students because the cost excludes financially challenged students from attending these universities.
Sources
Morality of Food Choices in Malcolm Gladwell's Podcast;
Malcolm Gladwell's Food Fight (read)
Bowdoin's Defense Against Gladwell (read)
Mother Jones Challenges Gladwell (read)
"Malcolm Gladwell Likes Bad Food and Is Wrong About Bowdoin" (read)
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