Every semester, each of us has a class that we dread going to. You have one, your roommate has… Every semester, each of us has a class that we dread going to. You have one, your roommate has one, and unfortunately, I have three. I’d tell you their names, I’d give you the names of the professors who teach them, and I’d even tell you their CRN numbers, just so you wouldn’t make the mistake of finding yourself in those classes next fall.

But I’m sorry, I just can’t do that. Why? Because somewhere, Professor So ‘ So is sitting in his office, reading this and asking, “Is she talking about my class?” And while he contemplates this, he opens his binder, reaches for the class roster and considers docking my grade by a couple letters.

For my sake, and my sake alone, the professors and courses shall remain nameless. But I will leave you with one bit of knowledge: Ladies and gentlemen, Pitt’s got some really, really, really bad professors. After three years and six semesters, I believe I’ve tasted it all — from slow-talkers to non-English speakers to teachers who don’t talk at all.

As one of my most aggravating and unbearable semesters winds down, I pose these questions, “What happened to those professors whose passion for teaching made it easier for everyone to learn? What happened to teachers who cared so much about each student’s performance that they wouldn’t move on to the next section unless everybody “got it?”

Good instructors are an endangered species, and those replacing them are these Ph.D.-ers who, though incredibly skilled in their area of expertise, don’t know how to appropriately transfer that knowledge from their minds to ours.

Remember the countless lectures our guidance counselors gave us in 11th and 12th grades? “You’d better buck up, young man! College is no joke. You’re going to work harder than you’ve ever worked in your life!” My high school teachers scared my good work ethic into me. I did the practice problems, even though they wouldn’t be collected. I read chapter five while we were still on chapter four. I even studied for exams more than one hour prior to them.

But college changed that. Readings became optional, attending class on a sunny day was the funniest of jokes, and expecting most professors to put effort into teaching was about as far-fetched as expecting them to comb their hair.

So what do I say? Forget chapter five. I can’t even get to page two anymore! The truth is, I haven’t read a whole book since high school. Is that my fault? Well … yes.

In all honesty, we college kids need a kick in the butt every now and then. Here’s a statistic to prove it: According to the Joy Ike and People of Pitt Educational Division, students who have sucky teachers tend to have sucky grades. Researchers have also found that unenthusiastic professors and boring lectures boost alarm.

Here’s some pre-2005 academic year advice for every party involved.

Fellow students: Ask your friends about a class before you register for it. Don’t — I repeat, don’t — find yourself in my situation. But if you do, refrain from saying this to your professor: “Your inability to educate this class has dumbfounded me into believing that the only thing high about higher education is you!” That can’t possible help your grade.

Professors: If you don’t like people, don’t teach; plain and simple.

Pitt bigwigs: Watch American Idol for tips on how to find good talent.

And Mom and Dad: If you’re reading this column, I lied. College has been the most rewarding and enriching experience of my life. Every bit of your $8,600 per year has been well spent, and I can’t imagine doing it any other way.

If you want to know what classes not to pick for next semester, e-mail Joy at [email protected].