The Writing Prompt

Okay okay, during the fall semester of 2004 (my first semester in college), I took Composition I. Of course, this was required, but I was always big into English, and Math, though that doesn't pertain here. Annnnyways, our first writing assignment, minus the typical and oh-so goofy personal description mumbo jumbo, was to write a summary of an article we were given to read.
Now, my first thoughts were, "Hey, this is like a free A+, or an A at the minimum." However, I didn't slack one bit. I took the article home, delved deep into it, taking it as serious as if it were a midterm or even a final exam. I spent over two hours writing and rewriting, writing and rewriting, though making zero progression. I finally finished the paper, tagged it, and stapled it to the article. If this wasn't going to grab the professor's attention, then nothing was (I say nothing, simply because at that point I hadn't thought the paper would turn out badly.) Oh! However can I thank you Murphy, for your Law, and the imminent 'slap in the face' I was going to receive the next day.
I walk into class, giving my fellow classmates, though foreign as they were, the casual winks and nods, as if gloating for my already predetermined high mark. I had taken the assignment and absolutely destroyed it. There was no denying I had started the term off with a bang, a giant multi-colored chrysanthemum, bursting from the rolls of mortars on the barges down by the riverbed. However, though certain as I was, I was immediately dropped down from perpetual invincibility to utter embarassment.
Ms. Harl stepped into class, just as she had the day before, several minutes early, but with a look of conviction beneath her brow. There was no doubt that, though only mere days into the semester and with only one true assignment under our belts, Composition was her calling. What was only a passing thought at the time cemented immediately as she dropped the summary I had known to be nothing short of amazing. C+. But surely she had given me the wrong papers back. Surely she couldn't have been sure enough of the students' names, much less mine, after only three days of being in contact. There was obviously a mistake.
No mistake. Just a subpar summary, only a 'plus' and a few percentile points above failing. Humility. Utter humility. Holding back the urge to question her grading, I patiently waited for the time to pass. Watching grass grow? That was much more favorable to watching the long hand turn full circle fifty-five times. Determination. A longing to prove I wasn't just another teenager at college. I was a scholar.
Now, of course I didn't just sit and stare at the clock the entire duration of the period. That would've been murder. Instead, I had gone over countless scenario's in my head. My initial thought was the vote of pity. Something had come up, something that had completely sapped my time and rendered me unable to put adequate work into the assignment. No, that would reflect laziness, a trait that would take weeks, maybe months, to lose. Definitely not worth it. Maybe there was the apathetical approach. I had definitely worked more than enough for a higher mark to be attained, this I was certain of. Maybe I hadn't completely understood WHAT I was supposed to be writing about. Surely Ms. Harl would notice that my writing style was unquestionably above average and that I had simply goofed. No way, then I'd be deemed a bad listener. That was almost as bad as being lazy, especially in an English class! Time for excuses was over, I was simply going to go through with the most logical of approaches. I was simply going to ask about the grade.
The faces that were slowly becoming more recognizable as my classmates were disappearing through the door facing and a multitude of unfamiliar faces were streaming in. If I was going to make a move, this was it. I approached Ms. Harl and said, "Excuse me. I worked extremely hard last night on the summary. I know I did an excellent job. I pulled out all the stops, not in attempt to impress you, but to show that I had a firm grasp on your assignment and what it entailed. However, either your standards are very high (no offense), or maybe the jump from the juvenile 'high school' environment to the collegiate level was more massive than I had anticipated. Did I put too much time into my paper for my own good? Was I doomed from the beginning by working too hard? By all means, please shed some light!"
"Brandon, is it? I completely understand where you're coming from and I'd just like to let you know that your summary was brilliant, far superior to anything I had come to expect for my first assignment. Let me guess. When I handed back your paper and you saw your grade, you were, as I would imagine, very disappointed? Let me fill you in on one little thing then. I've been teaching for almost seven years, and in that time, I've never given anything higher than a C+ on the first assignment. It's simply my way of showing that I do not settle for mediocrity. I expect pristine work, whether it's a short story or an essay. I expect the best. I recall you asking if you had worked too hard? Well, that's never a bad thing, something you should know. However, worrying too much is something we just might have to work on."


Tada! Given, I didn't type it in proper format, but what you have just read is an adaptation of a true story from when I was back in school. Rough, but you wanted something applicable to the Forum of Generality. Alas, it is here.