The Laser Pointer

The very first class I went to at the University of Bologna was Art History of China. Well, I suppose it was the second, but the first lecture I attended for Art History of Buddhism in India was also my last. The professor humiliated me by calling me out as a "straniera," a foreigner in front of the entire class. Necks craned, everyone got a look at me, the foreigner. Sure, there couldn't have been more than eight people total in the room, including myself and the professor, but humiliation is one thing I cannot tolerate. So I stayed for the remainder of the class, palms sweating, cheeks red, and left, never to return.

Let's begin again. In the context of classes-I-actually-took, Art History of China was the first. Besides the first, it is also the longest running class I am in. I began attending on Tuesday January 9th, a virtual lifetime ago. For the record it ends May 20th. Another small class, on the days when all students are present, there are 7 of us. Everyone sits in the front three rows of the classroom which could easily seat 125 students. Sometimes in the fourth row back, I feel like some sort of rebel, ostracized for my bad-ass reputation, which is completely erroneous: I totally made that up. Actually I sit alone and don't speak to anyone because I'm foreign. I'm just plain ostracized. People stare like I'm some sort of blasphemous offense in my shorts and sandals while everyone else still wears light outerwear. I don't even own a leather jacket. I'm some degree of loser.

That's ok. I'd rather be me, the loser, than the girl who clearly dies her own red hair (and her scalp too) or the girl with MC Hammer pants down to her ankles– the crotch that is. In fact, I have the confidence to strut in there two days a week, and sit for two hours, pretending not to notice all the looks Harem Pants and Reba McIntyre are stealing. While I can commiserate with their inability to focus on Professor Celli for two full hours, I do feel somewhat objectified. I used to overlook it, but now I return their stares until they become uncomfortable. Sometimes I smile at them, sometimes I frown, sometimes I open my eyes too wide without blinking till they look away. I'm clearly an eccentric curiosity so why not take liberties with my behavior? Exactly. After all, didn't their mothers ever tell them it's impolite to stare?

This usually all occurs at the beginning of class. That is to say, they examine me and my sartorial preference for that day, and then settle in to listen. After the initial interest of the staring contest, I settle in as well, watching the supplemental images projected before us. Not to say that I don't find this class fulfilling, but it is downright boring. And worst of all is the laser pointer.

Professor Celli has this laser pointer that, like my attention starts out strong. She turns it on, red pin prick visible. Celli points it at some detail on the slide, and slowly but surely, every lecture, it fades until it isn't visible within ten seconds. The laser pointer is on, and she swings it, I'm guessing, over the area she wishes to demonstrate. Except the tiny red dot has been completely extinguished. This however does not affect her zeal in using it. She holds it, gestures with it, she points. Repeatedly in each lecture, that evil little illusion appears to highlight a concept that I only vaguely grasp to begin with, to show a detail that the laser pointer never clarifies for me.

This tiny useless devise never fails to infuriate me. I see its impotence as a reflection of all things in Italy: ceremonial, customary, designed with some intended purpose, and yet, completely useless.