So there I was in front of the class, my turn to present next. Of all days to give a presentation for a final project, it had to be January 26th two years ago, my sophomore year. My birthday. The report was on a novel and we had to make a poster about it. My novel was The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. In my mind, everything that could possibly go wrong, would. The nerves were already getting to me and they were only getting worse. We’ve all had those moments before a presentation. You got butterflies and all that good stuff, and you desperately hoped it would be postponed somehow.
Breathe.
Just use your note cards. If anything, you’ll lose just a few points for reading directly off them. No big deal.
Just use your note cards. If anything, you’ll lose just a few points for reading directly off them. No big deal.
I reached in my pocket. Nothing. They were right there where I could see them, on my desk.
Uh oh.
I stepped up in front of the class and clipped my poster to the board. I gained a bit of hope when I noticed that the criteria was on the back board. Immediately my hopes were dashed as I realized I couldn’t see it at all from the front. I had no idea what I was supposed to present. With only one light on in the room, it was too dark to see from the front of the room. I couldn’t read it at all, of all days to have allergies, this one was the worst. The board seemed to be infinitely far away and just looked like a blurry mess, like a painting that was rained on.
Okay, I said to myself, you can get through this. Just say the title and the author and go from there. If only I was a good improviser back then.
“My report is on The Count of Monte Cristo.”
Good.
“By Alexandre Dumas.”
That came out wrong. If this presentation were a plane, it would’ve just crashed into the terminal before taking off. To keep it G-rated, let’s just say I pronounced Dumas as if it had a ‘b’ and an extra ‘s’. Making me look like one myself.
Now the sweat came in. I kept my pinned arms at my side because I could already tell it was going to stain through my shirt. I started to explain each part of my poster and the first word came out all stuttered up . The one light in the classroom felt like a spotlight, so bright it almost burned. I continued talking and I knew that this wasn’t getting better at all. I looked back at my audience, and they all had faces that showed they felt sorry and embarrassed for me.
My performance was more wooden than the firewood at my house. To be honest, it looked like I was trying to parody something. I was fumbling with my words trying to explain the story, then realized I was not supposed to explain the story in detail. I was focusing on the unimportant and I left out the important.
I was fumbling with my words trying to explain the story, then realized I was not supposed to explain the story in detail.
The poster kept falling down. I felt like nothing was going right. Nothing was going right. I avoided eye contact as much as possible and just stared at one spot on the floor. It looked like I was concerned about some imaginary bug on the floor. I’ve seen others have less than average presentations before but this right here was the worst of all time.
Sweat. Nervousness. Stuttering. Forgotten ideas. Public Speaking.
This situation couldn’t get any worse.
What a great way to spend a birthday.
The presentation was over. I glance at the scores some people gave me, and it looked like pity had helped me this time. Although there were some honest people, “‘Would you read their book?’ ‘No,'” was seen quite often. As I walked back to my seat someone even commented, “Nervous, Gage?”
That was almost enough to break my composure. I went to the back to sit behind everyone so no one would look at me. I felt ashamed. I felt terrible. I felt like crying. I came so close.
As I walked back to my seat someone even commented, “Nervous, Gage?”
The next few days were the worst. I do not get stressed much but it was pretty bad. It was probably the most stress I had ever felt, as I waited for the scores to update online. I was deathly afraid of failing the semester at that point, even though I would’ve passed either way. In my mind, I thought it was the end. My grade was toast. I was so nervous and so anxious to see my score that it even made me nauseous at times.
A week later we received our scores on paper. I fully expected a C at most, probably worse. I knew just how painstaking that presentation was to get through but when I looked at the paper, I was surprised.
I received a B, 84 percent. Suddenly, the anxiety and sickness disappeared. Despite that train wreck, despite how terrible it was, despite the student comments I saw, I received a passing grade. It didn’t comprehend in my mind. It still doesn’t comprehend in my mind. I won’t complain much, but I am certain that the grade was given out of pity.
Looking back on it, I feel ridiculous. It makes me laugh at how emotionally unstable I was, and worried about everything. I think about how I acted. If I could go back in time and visit myself then, I would’ve told myself to stop being such a wimp.
As for the grade I received, I don’t agree with it, still.