Paying attention shouldn’t tax me

I’ve been having a problem with my classes this semester. The thing is, most of them require me to involve myself in some form or another. I know some of you might think that this is an expected requirement, but I think they’ve taken it too far here. My Writing classes have workshop periods where I must read other students’ work and then come up with half-intelligent responses. My English classes have in-class discussions where the professor will ask me a question and I’ll have to respond on the spot. My History class has a zero sleeping tolerance, which is frustrating since it’s a night class and our prof’s voice is more soothing than a cooing dove, wrapped in a soft pillow, coated in marshmallow sauce. Poor dove. It died for that simile.

The point is, it’s exhausting to have so much demanded of me. I live a hectic life and sometimes I’d like to have a little Lance Time, where I can sit in the back corner of class and think about race cars or perhaps what it would taste like to eat laser-flavoured ice cream. In other words, where I consider important issues that concern me today.

So I don’t understand why my professors think they can tell me what to do. I’m paying them primo bucks to stand at the front of class and talk about 19th century reader psychology, but all they want to do is turn it back on me and ask me for my two cents. You’re the guy who wrote his thesis on 19th century reader psychology; I’m just a second-year arts student who can barely fold a t-shirt. This isn’t some sort of give-and-take relationship — I purchased a service (your instruction), and I expect to learn something whether I’m conscious, or whether I’m crawling around the lecture hall under the influence of depressants, hallucinogens, and/or chloroform.

Consider this: when I go to see a magic show, I pay up front and am given a seat to watch the magician’s performance. I’m expected to laugh, be amazed, and go home without contemplating suicide. “A magic show is $50 well spent,” I will hypothetically say before I pass out in my own hypothetical urine. There’s no university equivalent to participation in a magic show. It’s not like they ever ask people to come onstage to help with a trick. Okay, maybe that’s not true. I’ve helped with a magic trick before, but it’s not like I had to do much. The magician asked for my name and I was expected to smile and laugh at the right times, but really, all I had to do was hold an umbrella while he teleported eggs into it from large distances. I don’t know how it worked, but I had a lot of fun and I got to keep the egg. In my English class, I don’t even get to keep the chalk. This is a problem.

Getting hands-on learning makes sense, but I don’t think it has any value in an educational institute. What do you think this is — NAIT? Save that kind of stuff for when you’re actually out in the workplace. When I turned 18, I got a job at the local liquor store and let me tell you, they didn’t expect me to know anything. They taught me how to work the cash register, how to crush boxes, and how to sell to minors as long as they had what looked like legitimate photo ID. Learning on the job is much more effective, because there’s the added pressure of them firing you if you don’t do the job properly.

Come on, professors! You mean well, but you make this hard on me, so give me a few hours a week to rest. I spend so much time outside of class making up for my not paying attention in class, that I’m really not losing anything apart from a little shut-eye. A lecture theatre may not have the most comfortable seats, but damn, there’s something very relaxing about sitting in one and listening to the white noise of European history. Maybe I’ll just close my eyes for a little bit and listen ... along ... mmm, lasers.