[This is a romance. If you want wild, slam-bam sex this isn't the story for you. This is about the unintended consequence of an assignment given in innocence. I hope you enjoy it and I hope you want more of the story. Let me know, Ok?]
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Watching students come into my classes has always been a favorite study of mine, even when I was a student. What they wear, what they bring with them interest me. Where they choose to sit. As a professor I have ample time and opportunity to indulge my little pastime. Sometimes a particular student catches my attention for one reason or another.
One winter quarter I sat on the table at the front of the room watching the students arrive for the first class meeting and noted how very different some of them were from the others. The first three through the door were guys wearing the uniform so many young men on campus wore: jeans, sweatshirt and Nikes. They carried identical backpacks of the school colors. They sat in a line across the second row of seats.
They were followed by individuals who came in alone and sat in seats spaced so when they sat down they left empty desks close to them. They dressed for warmth and comfort, not fashion.
The next person in surprised me. She was dressed for comfort and warmth but her clothes also said, "I'm not from here." She wore hiking boots, old, worn, hiking boots, jeans that had seen lots of wear, a leather belt with a shiny silver buckle and a tucked in plaid western shirt. Her hair was in a pony tail threaded through a base ball cap that said "Idaho" on it. No back pack. A small book bag made by Timbuk2 and no purse. She picked a seat squarely in the middle of the third row and sat down. She didn't slump.
The next entrance was loud and colorful. If you've spent much time on a college campus you will know exactly who came in. I call them the giggle sisters. They think college is a social function and are much more focused on parties, laughter and being seen than getting an education. They tend to travel in packs. In this pack there were six. Short skirts, knee socks, sweaters, cleavage and lots of eye and lip make up. Bright colors and jewelry that made noise were part of the uniform. As usual they sat as a group and continued to talk. I knew to expect they would sit in class, do their nails, refresh their make up and lipstick, giggle and pass notes.
The rest of the class filed in and filled in the empty seats.
At a training I attended during the summer, it was recommended we assign research projects so our students actually needed to talk to people to get information. Most classes assigned research that happened in the solitude and quiet of the library. When I was a student I found I felt the library was a place where I could stop worrying about personal interactions. It was when I got to graduate school I found out how exciting personal interaction research could be.
I had written fifty different assignments on slips of paper, put each in a separate envelope and numbered them. In the first class meeting I explained that there would be only two grades given during the quarter. One for their mid-term exam and one for their project. I explained how the projects would be done and how each student would get their project.
Each would come to the front of the room and draw an envelope from the box on my table. The box was from a pair of athletic shoes I bought during the previous summer. Each envelope had a number on it. I had a list pairing the projects, their numbers and each student would sign their name next to the number they drew. Trades would not be allowed. They could complete their project by submitting a paper they wrote, a video they made, or by presenting in front of the class.
Questions were asked about the length of the papers (long enough to do justice to the topic), the length of the video (same answer) and how long, big and elaborate the in-class presentation needed to be (a minimum of ten minutes, and enough to do the topic justice). I let them know that they would need to spend fifteen to twenty minutes in front of the room answering questions about their project no matter how they presented the project. Written projects would need to be turned in with enough copies for the entire class and turned in no later than the class meeting before their chosen presentation time. Then I invited them to come up and choose.
No one moved for almost a minute. I said, "By the way, no one is to open your envelope until everyone has their envelope. Opening them before everyone has theirs will get your grade lowered by five points. Since there are only one hundred points possible five could make the difference between an "A" and a "B", or between passing and failing."
The young woman wearing the baseball cap "Idaho" stood and walked to the table beside me. She looked into the box and picked envelope number twenty-three. She used her green pen to sign her name and print it beside the number twenty-three on the page before her on the table. By the time she signed Melissa Watkins there were ten people lined up behind her. In fifteen minutes all forty-two students in the room had their envelopes.
I clapped my hands and they all looked at me. "I have office hours in room 322 in King Hall from now until seven this evening. After you open your envelope you can do one of three things. One, you can head to the main office and drop this class. Two, you can begin figuring out how to do the assignment or three, you can come see me and we'll talk about how to get the assignment done. Our next class session is Wednesday at one in the afternoon. We will discuss interviewing techniques, asking good questions and taking good notes. Thank you for playing." I picked up my notebook, the sheets they had all signed, the box with the envelopes that had not been chosen and walked to my office.
Melissa was there before me. I had watched her sign her name, Melissa Watkins, when she selected number twenty-three. She held the envelope in her hand. I unlocked the door and went inside. She followed and she closed the door. I went back and reopened it, propping it so it would not close. "I think you wanted privacy. I understand, however, it's my policy to always have the door open when I have a student in the room with me. Sorry. Please sit down."
She sat. I sat in my office chair and looked at the list I had that told me what assignment number twenty-three was. "Interview twenty-five people you do not know. Find out what social activity they are most afraid of. Pick one of the activities they fear and that you have not participated in and do it. Report on your research, their reasons for their fears and your reactions do doing something new and possibly scary."
I looked at her and she said, "I don't know what to do."
"You interview twenty-five people you don't know. You ask questions that get them to tell you what social activity they most fear. It may actually take more than twenty-five interviews because you may not be able to get some people to tell you. You keep good notes on the interviews. In the interviews, do your best to find out why they fear whatever it is they fear. Then, you get to look over the list and choose one of their fears, something that is something you've never done, and go do it. Do not put yourself in harms way. Jumping off a building is putting your self in harm's way. Bungee jumping is not. It can and is done with safety."
"So, I'm going to learn about the fears people have, why they have them and I'm going to need to confront one of those fears myself?"
"Yes! If you choose, you can do the interviews, and then meet with me to discuss the possible choices you may make and how to go about confronting the fear."
"Can I switch and pick an envelope that wasn't picked?"
"No. It may help to know that no one can switch."
She didn't say anything else. After a few moments she stood, turned and walked out. Five seconds passed and one of the giggle sisters came in and sat down. She held envelope number eight.
"Interview twenty-five people you do not know. Discover their beliefs about death and dying. Choose to attend any of the various public ceremonies associated with death in and around the cultures of the Los Angeles area (funerals, burials, memorial services, etc.). Your project is to examine the reasons for the beliefs you encounter and to document your personal reactions to the rituals and ceremonies you participate in."
