“So Now I’m the Bad Guy?” Tenured Professor Fired After Stamping “Pass/Fail” on Students’ Foreheads

By Alex Johnson | Photo by Lizzy Morearty

I never meant to become the villain. Not in the traditional sense at least, but hey, I paid my dues. I showed up to every faculty mixer, every lecture, every damn departmental meeting. I was a model professor. A father figure, if you will. A Daddy, if you must.

But somewhere between a failed marriage, a misdelivered love letter written in glitter pen, and an unauthorized student impersonation of Wendy Williams that ended with me catching someone mid-faint (and mid-boner)—I cracked.

It began subtly. A twitch in my eye during syllabus week. A sigh that lasted 47 seconds. I started grading midterms with a beer in one hand (I fermented it myself) and a rosary in the other. I gave bonus points for eye contact. Subtracted them for “vibes.” I started to believe that the real test wasn’t academic performance… it was presence. Aura. Gut instinct.

So yes, I began stamping “PASS” or “FAIL” directly onto students’ foreheads. I called it “embodied assessment.” I called it bold. The department called it grounds for dismissal.

It wasn’t even about the grades. Not really. It was about truth.

Cassandra with the ukulele and the obsession with frogs in bowler hats? PASS.

British Barney who tried to submit his final presentation as a podcast episode? FAIL.

Alex—the one who said I “felt like home” after a particularly aggressive blackout-induced fainting spell? Pass with Distinction (it’s a special stamp).

I wasn’t drunk with power. I was just... drunk. And maybe, maybe, I was a little bit heartbroken. Because you don’t come back from a love like that. Not really. When someone breaks into your house at 3:47 AM with nothing but a handwritten poem and the burning conviction that God ordained your union—you remember that.

You remember the Spanx and the spandex-induced rash.

You remember the way they looked at you like you held the answers.

And maybe that’s what broke me. Not the bad student evaluations, not the legal threats, not even the loss of tenure. It was the loss of being someone’s entire curriculum.

So now, as I clean out my office (RIP to my novelty neurotransmitter mugs), I look back not with regret—but with raw, unfiltered rage.

I gave this institution my knowledge, my all…and all I got was a campus-wide email titled: “Unfortunate Incident Involving Unauthorized Facial Feedback.”

So call me the bad guy. Call me unhinged. But remember this: I didn’t fail them. I freed them.

And if you’re reading this, Anonymous Ass Eater…

Tell your dad I’m still coming to dinner.