I sure do love opening week. The air is full of excitement and the tingle-iest of all emotions, anticipation. As we surge into this new semester, I am sure that both the new American Eagles and the seasoned veterans have been looking forward to making this a year that wont be forgotten.
After all, there really is nothing more exciting than meeting up with people whom you haven't seen for three whole months ... especially if these people just happen to have a fake ID or a ton of disposable income. Yes, college friends are the best friends.
But nothing excites me about week one more than the start of classes. Call me a dork, but before the grind of a semester long schedule wears you down, isn't going to class a fun way to kill time? You feel productive. You feel like your parents aren't wasting that $35,000 they have invested into your future.
And, whoa boy, don't even get me started on syllabi. Syllabi rock! They are incredible tools that can help you discover if you are actually smarter than the professors. If the professor says it's time to hand out the "syllabuses," you know it's time to walk on out the door.
Along the same lines, check for typos in the syllabi. Use them to your advantage. Never, ever let go of an opportunity to back out of some work. If a professor misspells a word in the title of a book, just don't buy it. It's not your fault that a weary teacher's assistant forgot to use spell check.
As I move up through the AU hierarchy, these mistakes become harder and harder to find. I have accepted the fact that I will have to do all of the work that the professor wants me to do. Whether it be reading a novel per week, or even writing journal entries, I'll do it to make the grade.
Last year, I even made a diorama to appease a teacher. A DIORAMA! I hadn't made one of those since I was in fourth grade when I made one about the Civil Rights Movement with a black Ghostbusters doll (Winston) and a white Ghostbusters doll (Egon) shaking hands on the diorama roof. That inspirational work of shoebox-art earned me an A, which is more than I can say about the one I did for my class last year.
But worse than a diorama is a requirement that has plagued me in years past, and it seems my professors this year won't let me escape it. This will be the year of THE GROUP PROJECT.
And the five people in the group always seem to fit the same stereotypes. The overachiever demands that things be done his or her way, which just so happens to be the most difficult way. Then there are the two students who just don't show up to the group meetings.
Usually one is ridiculously lazy and the other has a superhuman schedule of classes, work, and internships that make it impossible for him or her to show up on time. Then there is the student who wants the project to be done as simply as possible so he or she can go back to drinking alcohol or doing whatever bored college kids do. Finally, the mediator serves as the blessed one, preventing the overachiever from killing the rest of the group.
I am by no means pointing fingers here. I have proudly fulfilled each of these roles - I have torpedoed some groups, while saving others.
But as an upperclassmen, these projects are just too much. I work on these projects with juniors, seniors and even graduate students, wrangling group members up from apartment complexes throughout the D.C. area to meet with me on campus, just so I can get a decent grade. Clearly, professors believe that substantial inconvenience is what makes or breaks a student's college career.
I beg the students who read this to fill out their course evaluations in December with big, bold letters: NO MORE GROUP PROJECTS. As for the professors who read this column, please have mercy on the students who would rather work for their own grades than depend on the work ethics of four random classmates.
In the meantime, I have to e-mail some people. My first group project is due in a week.
