she had become a teacherâs aid to make her resume look good. for a creative writing course, it seemed easy enough on paper: read peopleâs works, then give them a letter grade. taz didnât even have to pay attention to the classes (if she attended them; she didnât have to be at all of them, she was told from the beginning). plus, the professor allowed her access to their office- entailing her with free wifi and privacy. it was a sweet deal, and taz had yet to regret it. in the midst of grading a classâ latest assignment, she looked up when she heard a knock at the door, and, immediately, she felt a lump form in her throat. in front of her stood what she thought was the sweetest deal about the whole teaching assignment job. âh-hi,â she greeted, dropping the pencil she had in hand. she laughed nervously, bringing her hand to the side of her face. âare you here for office hours?â