Being a freshman in college was a lot harder than I was expecting. My biggest mistake was not researching the teachers before I signed up for their classes. My history teacher wasn't too bad once you got past the lame jokes he made. My psychology teacher was a sweet lady compared to my English teacher who was a bitter old woman. But the worst was my Statistics teacher who eventually came alive. When I first met Mr. Grant I was intrigued initially. He was very handsome and well dressed, seemed sophisticated, but spoke like a college student. But underneath the surface I could sense that he was deeply hurting. Whatever was causing him grief reflected in his grading. All my projects came back with negative notes and low scores. I could not seem to do anything right. I had spent so much time racking my brains out trying to get good grades in his class that my grades in my other classes were suffering. I decided that I was going to talk to Mr. Grant and see what im doing so terribly wrong. When I reached his office he wasn't there. I waited around for almost 15 minutes and left. On my way out of the building I ran into him. I stated I needed to see him and he told me to come to his office later tonight around 8. My first though was " what teacher is at school at 8pm?" but whatever. I had gone back to my dorm room and pondered everything I wanted to say to this guy. I went as far as picking up my psychology book to find some things to say to him. Eight o clock came near and I had left my room and headed to his office.
"Mr. Grant, I have some things I have to say to you. I'm trying and trying and still you continue to fail me, but you're not offering any helpful advice."
"You're right. I do admit that I have been harsh on you only because I know you can do better work"
