As the first week of classes gasps its last wheezy breath, and the weekend gives you those “come hither” eyes that make Thursday seem like a great time to get boozy, you’re probably making plans to paint the town red… or one of those jazzy colors.
But wait, my Spanish art galleries! Class is not yet over. With Thursday and Friday come those discussion sections you offhandedly registered for and trust me, nothing makes college more like high school than slumping over a desk at 9 in the morning listening to Sorority Girl 1 and Sorority Girl 2 lament that they are soooo hungry. You’re going to love it.
In all fairness, discussion sections are a good thing. They’re offered for classes that assign a lot of reading or have a lot of theory going on, so you get a chance to ask questions and deepen your understanding of the material. Flexible scheduling lets you to take sections around the rest of your classes. And yes, this is my half-hearted attempt at playing devil’s advocate.
My issue with discussion sections is tricky to explain. See, I really like the people at this school. They’re smart, and they know it, but they’re generally unpretentious and open-minded. This goes completely out the window during discussion sections.
Perfectly wonderful men and women turn into voracious regurgitators of secondhand wisdom. Others turn into brick walls. I am pretty sure this phenomenon is currently being investigated by top scholars at the Feinberg School of Medicine, but in the mean time, I’ll try to break it down for you. Here are the five people you will meet in your discussion section on Thursday or Friday… and how to not go to jail for their murder. Because some of us just can’t do another nickel.
The Visionary
If his hand is up in the air more than Ryan Seacrest’s sexuality, you just might have yourself a visionary. Visionaries have something to say about anything and everything. They’ve read the text – all the text – and feel compelled to share their remarkably unique (note: sarcasm) thoughts on every detail down to the sentence syntax. They can relate Shakespeare to the redomestification of women during wartime. They can probably even juggle.
Visionaries are actually kind of cool to have in class, because they keep the conversation going and take a little pressure off the rest of the students. Use this to your advantage. If your visionary relates everything back to philosophy, then raise your hand and point out more practical applications – or just nod your head and say something about Plato.
Either way, they’re pretty harmless, and they’re going to get a kickass grade in the class. Study-buddy it up. Also, learn to juggle.
The Above-It-All Asshole
Generally, when doing those cutesy little Hi-my-name-is, I’m-from, I’m-taking-this-class-because introductions, the asshole will ever so hilariously retort that he is in the class “for the babes” or because he won’t graduate if he drops it. God, do TAs love to hear that.
He will snort when the TA asks if you’ve done the reading, then ridicule the visionary in a voice that only the deaf would consider a whisper. He is just so cool, right?
Please resist the urge to commiserate with him, even if the only thing you’ve read this week is a Playboy. Not only is it rude, but, my NU nerds, it hurts your participation points. Hard. And that can make a difference between an A++ and an A+. Seriously. I don’t think your parents will hang it on the fridge without the extra plus.
The Napper
He sleeps. Pretty straightforward.
The Apologizer
Girls tend to do this more, so I’m giving the pronouns the old switcharoo. The apologizer starts each of her shyly uttered sentences with, “This probably is wrong but…” or “I don’t know if this is stupid or not, but….” And so on.
I hate this. This chick could solve global warming or break the space-time continuum, but if she says, “I don’t think this is right, but” first, then she’s Bambi’s mother and everyone’s gun is aimed to kill. Not to stir up horrific childhood memories or anything, but really.
First, don’t be this girl. Have confidence. Second, raise your hand and back a sister up. Tell 10 to tell 10. Or something like that.
The Model Who Lost Her Catwalk
Oh, lord.
Please stop this. It is 9 a.m. Nine in the morning. How dare you be wearing mascara? I brushed my teeth. Why wasn’t that enough for you? Why are you doing this? What are you trying to prove? Why are you punishing me? Please. Please stop. I’m begging you.
I’m sorry. I understand that some people want to look nice for class: If mine starts after 11, I can usually manage a pair of contact lenses and some Clinique Quickliner. But if your Burberry bag is bigger than the one under your eyes, tell me what drug you are on. I want to know.
Bottom line: If you spend more time on your outfit for discussion than you do on the reading, then I hope your parents are happy paying for your MRS degree.
Honestly, the best way to prepare yourself for discussion is to lock yourself in the library and read your life away. Granted, that doesn’t always go as planned: Today, for example, I dropped my history book in the toilet. Yeah, it’s going to be one of those years.
Photo credit: Centerpiece photo by airport on Flickr, licensed under the Creative Commons. Illustration by North by Northwestern.