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I had been working at my college's writing center for merely weeks when I was confronted with an extreme exception to the average tutorial. Fortunately, I was able to learn something positive from this negative experience. Three of us were on the clock, sitting in a row when in walked "Lenny" (because he looks like Lenny in "Laverne and Shirley"). With oiled-back hair and a strange, greasy grin on his face, Lenny pompously held his paper out in front of him like a kindergarten teacher showing pictures to a class. He stared at me as he walked around the computers. Why me? I thought. Out of sheer instinct, I ducked my head and tried to look really involved with what I was doing. I was not successful.

"Hey, where do I drop this off?" he asked loudly as he dropped his paper right in front of me. His physical actions immediately caused me to feel apprehensive and offended, but as we had learned in our peer writing assistant seminar class, I stayed calm. I stood, picked his paper up, and handed it back to him. Reflecting on the role play we had done in class, I remembered the correct way to address students when they assume we just proofread.

"We can assist you in making your own corrections to your paper. Responses usually last half an hour to an hour."

"I don't have that kind of time right now. Can't I just drop it off and pick it up?"

"No, would you like to make a reservation for when you have time?"

"Can't you do it now?" Lenny said, finally relenting.

"Sure, but next time please remember we require appointments after 5 p.m."

He sat down, and I proceeded to fill out our reader response form. I asked him what class the essay was for. He told me chemistry, and he had to write about his favorite element. I asked for his name, major, year, etc. He began to loudly and defiantly enunciate every word he said like a spelling bee contestant. By the time we got to the title of his paper, I was on edge. I'm sure I'm not alone on this: when I feel threatened, I resort to humor to lighten the mood. At this point, I noticed his title: "Why I Love Gold."

Thinking of the third Austin Powers movie, I offered, "You must like Austin Powers…"

He looked at me like I was crazy, "What?"

I said, "You know, the guy who loves gold."

Dead silence. I found out later from my director that when she had spoken with Lenny, he told her I had insinuated he was an idiot by comparing him to Napoleon Dynamite. Apparently he had never seen Austin Powers. So much for trying to show that I was not there to criticize him and that we may actually have something in common, somehow.

So I said it outright-"I'm not here to criticize you; I'm here to help you with your paper."

"I don't care," he enunciated, "I'm just here to get bonus points."

What I didn't know then was that at any point I could have discontinued the reader response. Upon reflection, this may have been the perfect place to end the session. I began to read his paper out loud like we had learned in class. I ran into a run-on sentence. I read it once. I read it one more time to see if he might catch the error on his own.

"Did I write that in there twice?" he said maliciously.

"No, I just noticed that...."

"I didn't think so."

Here would also have been a good place to discontinue the session. Not knowing what else to do, I simply continued reading. We were way beyond the format I'd learned in class. I had learned to read the paper then make comments. He stared at me impatiently. Determined to help Lenny in some way, I scanned his paper and showed him a few things I noticed right away.

Finally, when we got to his sources, he said, "Can you put my sources in the right format?" Maybe I could help him in some way, after all.

"I can get the book we need for that," I said optimistically.

"Oh, so you don't know how," he snorted derisively. It was then I decided to end the whole thing. I finished filling out the form. I gave it to him and told him to feel free to leave a comment. He later wrote a rather lengthy and rude comment maligning the intelligence of people who work in writing centers--and then accidentally turned it in to his professor.

As he was leaving the writing center, he stopped at his friend's computer and said loudly and clearly, "What an idiot; she didn't know anything." Lenny doesn't know me, and I would not have this job if I didn't know anything, so I didn't allow myself to get too upset. I was, however, baffled at the overall experience. I talked with one of my coworkers and asked her what I should have done. She told me I should have just told him to leave, but if she had been in my shoes she would have kept going, too. At this point in my writing center career, I had heard of a few worst-case scenarios (but none of this caliber), and was confident that my prior experience with the public would solve these issues. This particular instance became the exception. Through a combination of bad luck and some ill-placed humor, I realized that not every reader response will go well. I decided to make the best of the situation; I had learned a few key points:

1) Never make jokes to lighten the mood during a reader response unless you are certain the person will not take offense. (But seriously, this was the first time I had ever talked to a guy who hadn't seen Austin Powers....)

2) Just because a few of the students whom professors send in are belligerent does not mean all are. Some actually learn something and become repeat visitors.

And most importantly:

3) I don't have to put up with rude students just because I work here. Although my co-workers and director tell me Lenny's case is the worst scenario our writing center has ever seen, I practice the following just in case: "If you don't have this form, you don't get the bonus points." Well, I did finally get an apology from Lenny (after my director tracked him down), but there are no promises I will work with him again, at least not until he watches Austin Powers and/or lightens up a bit.