Once I returned to Grounds after Winter Break, I was forced to participate in a semiannual U.Va. tradition.
I am talking, of course, about the first day/week of classes.
The first step to navigating this maze is getting on ISIS and figuring out your classes. Oh, and not murdering everything in a fit of rage while you attempt to do so.
Student: Yes, why can’t the Course Offering Directory be viewed on the same screen as the system used to sign up for courses?
Austin: Ah, you’re off by one, the Mensa Convention is being held next door.
If for some reason, ISIS doesn’t let you enroll in all the classes you want (Bahaha, and why wouldn’t it?! What a long shot ... boy, this really is a humor column), your next plan of attack is the Course Action Form, an old Indian term for “Begging Paper.” You take one of these magical documents to the professor in hopes of leapfrogging ISIS and enrolling in class. Professors — and their stances on C.A. forms — fall into three distinct categories:
1. High-octane raving nut who high fives people a lot and constantly talks about how his subject leaves him “pumped and toked, it’s like ‘totally’ plus ‘stoked’ just better ‘cuz now they’re pushed together. Bump my chest!” Any opportunity to partake in “sticking it to the man” is like Christmas morning for this guy. Your slip is signed before class even begins.
2. Idiot. This fellow looks around the room at all the desks. “Well ... we’ve still got a few empty ones so ... Wheee! I guess you’re in.” When all desks are filled, one more student will inevitably show up with a Course Action Form. Once more, the idiot pans the room. “I’m sorry, the desks are all filled up.” When the student suggests transporting a (gasp!) additional desk into the room to forward his pursuit of higher learning, the idiot will pass out from the Logic Front headed in from the north.
3. Devil-woman. When asked if she can bypass the system and sign you into her class, she will snap off both your legs and rub them together to make fire so that she finally has something she can use to burn your Course Action Form before your very eyes.
Once you’re in a class, the first day is always the hardest. You will spend an hour and a half going around a 400-person lecture hall so that every warm body can stand up, share his name, major and a zany story about this one time on family vacay, as this will inherently add to discussion in Ancient Persian History 402 later down the road. If you have a nickname you prefer, now is the time to speak up. Dave: “I’m David but y’all can call me D-MoneyYaHeardRunTellAllY’allChiCityTaThaLivestMax106” always speaks up.
Professors inevitably go over the syllabus on the first day. Though considering professors instruct you to begin all papers with a “catchy hook,” spending their first moments with you reading a document with less zeal than a greasy issue of SkyMall doesn’t send the best message. Faculty also treat syllabi like a force of nature, completely beyond the extent of their human power. “The workload will start out manageable ... but then when we get to the end here, Whew! Things really begin to spiral out of control, don’t they? I know, it’s amazing! Wow, I don’t know how anyone could get through this syllabus.” When you inform them that they can, in fact, manipulate it in absolutely any way they desire, their heads explode. If this occurs in a class about volcanoes, all the students appreciate the irony.
The first day is also the time for the professor to share his thoughts about how laptops are rude, disrespectful and detract from the quality of the class. It is also a time for students to share their thoughts about how the class is less stimulating than a pile of “Cat Fancy” magazines; the Internet is awesome and the guy gets paid whether they’re asleep or awake, quit yer yapping, Teacherman.
But there is one lesson greater than all others pertaining to the first class: Do not, under any circumstances, stay in a class because of The Hot Girl. Without fail, THG always drops the course by the second class, and then you get to enjoy a whole semester with D-Mone-... forget it.
Austin’s column runs biweekly Tuesdays. He can be reached at a.wiles@cavalierdaily.com.
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