When I was in high school I took a class that was such a snoozer. The professor was a nice enough human, but he hadn’t the slightest idea how to engage a classroom of 16 teenagers. He did have a pretty good idea how to bore us to death though.
Every day we’d show up in class, sit in our seats, pull out our notebooks and pens, and he’d start droning on in Spanish about significant Latin American authors.
“In 1950 Pablo Neruda wrote blah blah blah blah. The main protagonist were blah blah blah blah. This is significant in that it started the blah blah blah blah. And blah and blah and blah . . . on and on and on”
The class notes were to be taken dictation style. That is to say, we had to write every.single.word he said.
What do I know about Latin American literature as a result? Nada. Zero. Zilch. Nothing. Zip.