#even immortals need to cite their sources in Chicago style

[jordisstigander]

Shalim threw open the door to Dr. Nanaea's office in fury.

"What!" he yelled, brandishing his essay, "is THIS!"

Dr. Nanaea sputtered as she spilled her tea, irritably grabbing a handful of post it notes to dab it off her desk. "We've talked about appropriate entrances before, Mr. Hadad, and I think you'll find you know exactly what it is."

Shalim glowered at her.

"You think," he hissed, "that because you have a piece of paper on your wall, that you are the arbitrator of truth. A power tripping queen of a pathetic little kingdom, exerting control in whatever way she can."

The professor leaned back in her chair, tilting her head. "Very eloquent. Can you get to the point?"

The angry student slammed the offending paper onto the desk and drew himself up to his full height of 5'9".

"You. Gave. Me. A. D!"

Dr. Nanaea waited for a moment.

"And?" she prompted. Shalim felt fury rise up against the smug little woman.

"How dare you give me a D on an essay about Ugaritic culture! I was there! You have read about it, dug up its bones, played in its ashes, but that was my homeland! Its gods are mine, its people are mine, its glory is mine, and you would steal it all away from me! Have you no shame, you harpy?"

Shalim rocked back on his heels, breathing heavily, righteous anger flowing through his body. The professor sighed.

"Please have a seat, Mr. Hadad." At first he refused to budge, but after a brief staring match he huffed and sat in one of the leather chairs besides her desk. The professor stared at the degrees on her wall.

"The day the Immortals went public meant a lot of things to a lot of different people," she said, quietly, "Many people were scared. Others were jealous. A lot of my friends were hopeful that this would lead to breakthroughs in medicine and science. But do you know the first thing I thought was? 'I can't wait to hear the stories. No more guesswork and squabbling and piecemeal recreation from fragments. No more resignation about civilizations lost to sand and time.' You see, Mr. Hadad, that piece of paper you despise so much represents a decade of my limited life, dedicated to the study of cultures like yours. So when I heard you were going to be my student, I was overjoyed. And then you turn in work like this."

Dr. Nanaea picked up the essay and started leafing through it.

"No thesis statement, no cited sources, no conclusion, just a list of personal anecdotes with no historical frame of reference, jumping from time period to time period, with some of the most atrocious formatting ever witnessed by god or man. To be honest, a D was generous. This isn't an essay, this is my drunken aunt's Facebook post."

Shalim crossed his arms defiantly, jutting out his chin. "Why should I cite sources? I was there!"

"Yes, you were, but we need to establish that. As a primary document, this could be very useful, but that isn't the assignment. Look," Dr. Nanaea leaned forward, "if all you want to do is share your stories, we can do that. I'm a historian, I can interview you, we type up the transcripts, I can format things, we can publish. But that won't work if you want a degree. If you want a history degree, you need to be able to write an essay. I know you don't want tutors, but trust me, I have a list of master's students who would jump at the chance to help you in exchange for collaborations."

The immortal hesitated, and Dr. Nanaea continued.

"Please, ask yourself what it is that you want here. Do you want to contribute to history? Do you want to learn new skills? Do you want to share part of your vast store of knowledge? Or do you just want to lord over the pathetic mortals? Because if it's the last one, you can leave. I'm not going to beg for scraps of my heritage. But if it's anything else, then let us help you."

Shalim bit his lip, sinking into his seat.

"I will...consider your offer," he mumbled. Dr. Nanaea nodded.

"Very good," she said, looking pleased. She hesitated for a moment, then asked,

"Did you really interact with Ea-Nasir?"

Shalim's face darkened.

"That jackel," he snarled, "do you know how much copper he owed me? It was outrageous!"

Shalim dove into the story, gesturing enthusiastically. Dr. Nanaea's laughter could be heard echoing down the halls.

You’re rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a D on your essay about Mesopotamia. Not just because you’re sure she doesn’t like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - YOU WERE THERE.