Day 130: Tutor Troubles

Tutoring seemed like a simple concept when I signed up for it: show up, help struggling juniors with their coursework, and earn some easy pocket money. But today’s session made me question all of my life choices.

I arrived at the student center five minutes early, armed with a whiteboard marker, my notes, and a misplaced sense of confidence. The topic for today’s session was accounting basics—debits, credits, and the glorious world of ledgers. Simple, right? Wrong.

The first red flag was the group size. Instead of the expected three or four students, a horde of ten shuffled in, their faces a mix of confusion and dread. “Is this the remedial session for Financial Accounting 101?” one of them asked.

“Yes,” I replied, trying to sound calm while internally panicking.

I started with the basics, drawing neat T-accounts on the whiteboard. “So, let’s say you’re a business owner, and you purchase equipment. That’s a debit to your equipment account and a credit to your cash account.”

Blank stares.

“Okay,” I continued, “imagine your business is a pizza shop…” I launched into an elaborate pizza analogy, complete with dough, cheese, and imaginary profits.

One guy in the back raised his hand. “Why do we need to credit cash? Can’t we just subtract it?”

“No,” I said, mustering patience. “In accounting, credits and debits are how we track increases and decreases in different types of accounts.”

“But why can’t we just call it ‘minus cash’?” another chimed in.

I was starting to feel like a math teacher explaining why two plus two equals four.

Then came Sarah, the overachiever of the group. She interrupted me mid-sentence to point out an error on the whiteboard. “Shouldn’t the total balance be reflected here?”

I checked the board and realized she was right. Great. I corrected it, trying to save face, but by then, the group had descended into chaos.

“Wait, now I’m confused,” another student said. “Does this mean equipment is an expense or an asset?”

“It’s an asset,” I said.

“Then why did my professor say it depreciates?”

“It does, but—”

“And where does depreciation go?”

“On the income statement as an expense, but that’s not today’s topic,” I said, trying to steer the conversation back.

By the time we reached the practice problems, my carefully prepared worksheet was being scrutinized like it was written in a foreign language. Half the group was still debating the pizza analogy, and the other half was arguing over whether depreciation was even real.

Things took a turn when Faisal, who had no reason to be there, popped his head into the room.

“Hey, Eddie, you busy?”

“Yes,” I snapped, gesturing at the chaotic scene.

“Oh, cool,” he said, unbothered. “Just thought you’d want to know they’re serving free cupcakes in the cafeteria.”

Half the group perked up. “Free cupcakes?”

“Can we go?” someone asked.

“Not until we finish this problem,” I said, my authority hanging by a thread.

By the end of the hour, I felt like I’d aged ten years. The students shuffled out, thanking me half-heartedly, while Sarah handed me a sheet filled with additional questions. “Could you email me the answers to these? I really need to understand this for the quiz.”

I nodded weakly, knowing full well that I’d probably end up Googling half of them myself.

Back at the dorm, Faisal was waiting with a cupcake in each hand.

“How’d it go, Professor Eddie?” he asked with a grin.

“I feel like I just survived a reality show,” I said, collapsing onto the couch.

“Sounds about right,” Amanda chimed in. “Tutoring’s a thankless job.”

“True,” I said, biting into a cupcake. “But at least I got paid to explain pizza. That’s a win, right?”

Lesson of the day: Teaching others is harder than it looks. And next time, I’m bringing cupcakes as bribes.