Memorable moments: The descriptive fallacy

I taught English for two years at an adult college in Sydney, and on the whole, I loved it. It was a wonderful break from the corporate world and a fantastic outlet for my creativity. But there was one specific incident that was deeply regrettable, incredibly challenging, and easily one of the most embarrassing moments of my professional life.

Every term, I would be assigned a new class of at least twenty students. Many of them had names that were difficult for me to pronounce or remember—particularly the Thai students—and remembering names has never been my strong suit. Since I was expected to know everyone's name within the first couple of lessons, I developed a mnemonic system. On the very first day, I would write quick, descriptive trigger words next to each name on my official roster to jog my memory: Bubbly Brazilian, Very Tall, Bright Red Glasses, and so on.

During one frantic first lesson, as I tried to quickly catalog twenty new faces, I hit a wall with one female student. I couldn't immediately spot a distinct clothing item or personality trait to lock onto, so in the heat of the moment, I hastily scribbled "fat face" next to her name.

Four days later, during a brief break in class, I stepped out to go to the toilet. In my haste, I stupidly left my folder sitting open on my desk.

One of the male students in the class was utterly obsessed with his attendance record, as his student visa strictly depended on it. Seeing his chance, he surreptitiously walked up to my desk, opened the folder, and began scanning the roster to check his marks. That was when his eyes landed on the handwritten note next to his classmate's name.

Instead of keeping quiet, he promptly blurted it out to the entire room. The class erupted into laughter, and the poor girl was understandably humiliated.

She immediately went down to the principal's office to lodge a formal complaint. When I found out what had happened, I felt absolutely sick to my stomach. I apologized profusely to both the student and the director, thoroughly horrified by the pain my careless shorthand had caused.

It was a brutal, unforgettable lesson. From that day onward, I made a strict rule never to write anything on my roster that wasn't overwhelmingly flattering. No student ever snooped in my folder again, but if they had, they would have been absolutely thrilled with what they found.