He Said:
I confuse one of my English professors for a paramedic.
Each Monday he shuffles into the Shanks classroom toting a paper bag that might as well be a cooler full of vital organs.
He overturns the bag on a table, forming a delicious puddle of treats: chips, pretzels, peanut butter cups and other chocolates.
It’s 5:30 p.m., and he seems to understand the next two-and-a-half hours are rather torturous. The food is an encouragement for our patience — possibly more so a plea for us to stay upright with open eyes. It’s really how we survive.
Yet when the prison gates eventually open, I simply sky-hook my trash and slog into the halls with atrophied legs. Only this week did I really consider his gesture.
The man drives from his Roanoke home to teach a group of semi-zombies, and somehow he’s compelled to make a pit stop in order to feed the cult. It’s spring break, and I finally paused to extend my thanks. And I was just acknowledging the candy; I forget he’s ultimately helping me make a salary one day.
Now I never placed an apple on a teacher’s desks as a tyke, but I know I recognized him with an equivalent expression, whether it was a warped crayon drawing or otherwise.
Do you give your instructors the nod they likely deserve?
But, this notion of appreciation moves beyond our textbooks. There are plenty of contexts in university life that create moments of gratitude, yet we often overlook them — or worse, actively ignore them. With an extra pinch of awareness, our interpersonal dealings might be more flavorful.
We swarm dining halls every day to conquer hunger but sometimes neglect the source of our meals. The endless, snaking lines embitter us so we take the burrito like an Olympic baton and sprint for the exit. The folks behind the counters and registers (wearing hats they probably hate) usually have name tags. Take a peek and personalize a sincere “thank you.” I work at a campus gym, and I’m startled to hear my name as part of a courtesy.
That same gym currently hosts intramural basketball playoffs. If you’ve ever been on the sidelines, you’ve witnessed the insane amounts of grief athletes spitball at student referees (I’m guilty of it). Those with striped shirts hopscotch over a minefield of F-bombs. But they’re just trying to make quick cash; the Department of Recreational Sports needs them to even give us the outlet. Their training might be hasty — and you may know your block was all ball — but they might deserve props for taking your talk.
How about your stride, after all? We stroll over numerous crosswalks between classes, during which we might text or give the asphalt a good stare. It’s nice to catch someone dishing a wave to the idling vehicles. Granted the law requires they yield, but it’s conceivable someone could bowl for a few pedestrian pins out of spite. If anything, it shows you’re grateful they aren’t a crazy person.
And don’t think I’m nuts; I’m not trying to frame Virginia Tech as a callous community. Despite some missed opportunities, you see a lot of reciprocal kindness.
Some suggest chivalry is dying, but I think we’re great with door holding — guys as well as girls. At the Squires entry next to Newman Library, for example, when one person motions, “After you,” the same is usually returned moments later.
We’ve also got the big stuff right such as, well, the Big Event. Thousands of students visit area homes hauling rakes and shovels to complete small projects, essentially thanking residents for letting us crash their little town.
I don’t think everyone’s actions are based on the expectation of praise, but it’s tough to argue with how good it can feel when it’s given. So consider being mindful of where more of it could fit into your days. Now that my English professor knows I’m indebted to him for a full stomach, I’ll watch for what’s next.
I’m pretty sure I’ve contributed to my apartment’s electric bill twice. But it’s doubtful that “I appreciate it” will cover the costs. I’d better prepare an apology and a check.
She Said:
Most people, no matter how nice they might actually be, do not say “thank you.”
Around campus, I at least try to show some appreciation. When somebody holds a door open for me, even when they’re walking in front of me, I make sure to always give a nod and say something positive loud enough for them to hear.
Since I’m from a town of 400 people in rural West Virginia, my small act of gratitude seems, to me, normal. Saying “thanks” to a kind stranger makes my day seem a little sunnier.
For the many who were raised in a constant bustle and cluster of people, I’m weird for saying anything at all.
But when the tables are turned and I find myself holding a door for someone else, I expect a “thank you” or at least some acknowledgment. And if I don’t receive one, a storm cloud grows above my head.
Nothing busts my mood worse than someone not saying “thank you.” I’m not holding the door for you because you’re entitled, you little grub. I’m holding it open for you because maybe I can restore someone’s faith in humanity — even if you just shattered mine.
Of course, in this instance, spoken gratitude is the central issue. In college, there are many instances where we feel gratitude, but say nothing at all.
And sometimes, that’s OK.
For a total of three years, I’ve worked in dining halls.
Flipping burgers and shoveling out salads is a pretty thankless job, exacerbated by the fact we have to wear unflattering uniforms and work with the public. We dining services workers are not the merriest people on campus.
A lot of students — underclassmen in particular — are pretty horrible about being grateful for the service we provide. They think it’s OK to leave their crusty sandwich wrappers everywhere because “someone is getting paid to clean it.” When we strive to be friendly, our only response is a slack-jawed, vacant stare.
It’s annoying.
But sometimes, good people forget to give thanks in the moment. While working at Leaf and Ladle in West End, a girl ordered a Greek salad and chatted me up about how “outrageously excited” she was to devour the thing.
Although she never directly said “thanks,” I was more than happy to help this girl out because she was giddy about the food. For a minute there, I felt like less of a student wage employee and more like a Top Chef.
While speaking to my good friend Tracy — a French instructor here — about this issue, she also had some insight.
Though she has had few students who have explicitly thanked her for being awesome (and she is), Tracy revealed that she feels gratitude from students even when they simply ask if she’ll be teaching a different section of French.
“I know I’m doing a good job when they ask me this,” Tracy told me. “They don’t have to say thanks.”
And although she may not need any affirmation of her teaching skills, we college students do have someone we especially need to thank: our parents.
I’ve realized that throughout the years, I’ve never thanked my parents for a lot of the things they’ve given me — and probably a lot of kids are in the same boat.
How many times have you thanked your parents for paying tuition?
For bailing you out of the mire of your overdrawn checking account?
For letting you make decisions as an adult?
For spring break, I’m spending the week with my parents (whom I see usually only twice a year), and I’m finally going to thank them for all my crap they’ve had to deal with. From consoling me about breakups to paying for medical bills to letting my friends have a free stay in Hilton Head – my parents have been better than the best.
So the next time you receive your London broil from a dining services worker, meet with your professor or talk to your parents on the phone, make sure to prove you’re nice — tell them “thanks,” because it’s better to speak up than have your gratitude go unnoticed.