The Red and Black

Issue date: 1/11/08 Section: Opinions

JESSSICA BURGHAUS

I hate the first week of classes. It isn't so much getting up early, riding the bus packed like sardines or even forgetting the location of my class and having to call my roommate to look it up. (Yes, it has happened on occasion.) What irks me most are introductory games - those annoyingly, petty little diversions especially characteristic of small classes.

There are several types of these efforts aimed at getting to know your neighbor.

One is the general introduction, which includes the basics: name, hometown and major. Some may go more in-depth, provoking the victim to provide his or her hobbies, favorite songs and a life story summarized in a couple of sentences.

The next level of torture is the well-known game, "two truths and a lie." This requires the student to express three statements - two factual and one false.

The catch is the other students have to guess the statement that is not true. This game is perhaps the cruelest of them all.

No one cares if you actually play the piano instead of the trumpet. If you're not related to Barack Obama, haven't climbed Mt. Everest and aren't the creator of YouTube, then you're practically screwed. Instead of appealing to your classmates, you might as well be giving a speech titled, "I Have No Life."

After suffering through this torment in my previous three classes, I thought things could not get any worse. As usual, I was wrong.

I entered Telecommunications feeling safe, since it is a 300-person class. However, after the first 15 minutes of class, the professor announced that the T.A. would ask questions and hand out gifts to those who answered. I shrank in my chair.

The first were easy and only asked about hometowns. Then came the next question: "Who can do the Soulja Boy dance?" The upper half of my body snapped upwards from my seat as everyone began whispering excitedly and looking around for the poor soul who actually would volunteer for this role.

To my surprise, some kid two rows back from me raised his hand and practically skipped down the stairs. Don't stop reading yet - it gets even worse.

Once he received his first victim, the T.A. called for a volunteer to sing "Crank That (Soulja Boy)" while the first volunteer danced. I watched in a daze as a girl stepped up to the plate. The boy danced (and he actually did a good job) and the girl hummed along (who knows the words to that song, anyway?), and I sat there watching the whole pathetic show wondering why this had come to occur in the first place.

In that moment, I realized it was all a scheme - a plot devised to distract our attention from what would happen afterward - notes, nights spent poring over chapters and monstrous final exams. Professors who produce these little games are attempting to make their class seem adventurous and exciting so we will keep our rear ends in their classroom seats until the Drop/Add period is over. Then, when the allure of the Soulja Boy display has faded, we are trapped.

They treat us like kindergarteners on our first day of school in an effort to exert their power as our superiors. Still, I have to admit, on that Tuesday afternoon, a tiny part inside me really enjoyed that sing-and-dance routine.

- Jessica Burghaus is a sophomore from Snellville and a pre-journalism major.

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