DOUBLE JEOPARDY

I've had students, full grown men mind you, at the third/fourth grade reading level, tell me they're ready for the GED exam. My usual reaction, which I've perfected over the years, is to let them explain to me in so many words how they prepared, before asking, "Why am I embarrassed for you?"

Most of the time they have difficulty sensing the irony, the sarcasm, in my voice. Sometimes, when the argument gets a little heated, I'll play Alex Trebek. "Here's the answer," I'll say, "kidney stones and gas." I'll get these blank, impassive stares. They don't watch the show, too knowledge based; therefore, they don't understand the format. I'll explain that I'm looking for the question. Still no answer. "What are the two things you will pass in your life time?" I'll say.

The real kicker about teaching in a prison is that the lifers are usually serious about their education, whereas, ninety percent of the short timers could care less. "Why should I attend classes," they'll ask, "when I can pay to take the test out in the real world?" I guess that's why they're called cons--they're confident in their abilities, which are woefully lacking. Once in a while a student will ask for extra time on his test, especially if he's the last one in the room.
"C'mon, no one will know," I hear.

My response: "I'll know." They don't get it. "Look," I explain, "I could go to a Department of Corrections party, get drunk, and tell on myself." Afterall, no one's infallible.