No ritual exists in the academic realm that I relish with the same passion as syllabus day. The spectacle, the pageantry, the recycled outlines that will quickly go by the wayside; I love them all. When I hear of a friend who has decided to blow off the first day of a class because it's only syllabus day
I want to punch them in the throat.
Upon arriving to class, there are many choices to be made. First is the decision of where to sit. This is crucial as it will likely become your de facto assigned seat for the remainder of the course, and any deviance from it will be met by distrust and disapproval from your fellow classmates. Why did Jimmy move from the third seat back next to the window to the second seat in the center row?
Well he obviously wants to get friendly with that student that is now sitting directly in front of him. Why else would he have moved from his first day seat.
After selecting the desk that best defines you as a person - I myself am a back row or window man - you and your newfound classmates await the arrival of the axis of the professo-centric world you've all just dropped into. Being introduced to a new professor is a treasured collegiate tradition. Obviously, the purity of this experience can be tainted by taking the same professor repeatedly, or the use of the heretical pick-a-prof. So it begins anew every quarter. The professor arrives and we immediately judge if they will be cool or lame based on each student's predetermined traits of preference, or as many refer to them, the number of absences allowed before your grade is penalized.
I'm a big fan of the bad cop professorial introductory approach. The instructor who comes in and lets you know that she/he won't be messing around in class and if you're looking for a cakewalk, World of Plants is down the street. This is an often-misunderstood approach that a lot of novice syllabus dayers mistake for evidence of lameness. But don't rush off to the nearest computer to see if that PBIO class is still open, because you're probably going to skip out on a professor that might be worth taking. The bad cop is usually a softy who's simply sifting out the sixth year student whose idea of a perfect class is sitting with their laptops on their desks watching the bootlegged porn bloopers they got from their buddy Chowder.
The introductions done - and God willing this has gone on without any icebreakers - the rest of the time consists of the class turning to their hymnals as the teacher carefully reads, word for word, what is written on the documents they've just handed to you. Now you may say Eric isn't it a bit dull to sit and listen to a teacher read
word for word
the document they've just handed to you?
A valid question, but inevitably a dumb one. The answer to your stupid, stupid question is, of course not.
I ask you to remember the golden days of education, or as I refer to them, Kindergarten. After a busy morning of nose picking and coloring (sound familiar art majors?) ,you'd all relax on the rug in the middle of the room and listen to Mrs. B, K, T, whatever letter she was and read a story and chill (sound familiar fellow English majors?). Syllabus day is merely a series of story-times, and who doesn't love story-time? I'll tell you who, terrorists. Well, them and the French.
The professor wraps things up with a prefab collegiate reminder that plagiarism is generally frowned upon by the academic community and the students adjourn with their own personal opinions on whether or not to drop the class. It's an exercise in exposition, people. You can't get the full experience of The Godfather without seeing Sonny giving it to one of Connie's bridesmaid's or Vito slapping Johnny Fontaine and telling him to be a man, so logically, no class can be truly appreciated without a solid syllabus day.
So the next time you hear a friend complain about the pointlessness of syllabus day, I ask you to carefully explain all the valid, clearly explained points presented here today, especially the need for a strong first impression. If that doesn't work, I urge you to be a good friend and punch them in the throat.
- Eric Dryden is a senior creative writing major who doesn't punch his friends in the throat...usually. Send him an e-mail at ed890402@ohiou.edu.
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