Ragin' Raven From Racine Reaches Out To Three New Students.

To the kid in the back who thinks he's totally rad:
Yea, I see you. How could I not, right? Everything about you, from your uncoiffed, blond surfer hair, to the way you lean casually back in your chair with your hands folded behind your head, screams, "Look at me and know that I am too cool to care." And the way you talk over everyone's introductions to joke with your "bros" really shows that you are too cool. And they way you make flirty little comments during your own introduction says, "I think I can manipulate everyone--including the instructor--with my oozing, laid back charm." Dude. First of all, we're in the freaking Midwest. Lose the surfer persona. Second, you're mildly creepy. So why don't you sit up in your chair, shut your mouth, and realize that all the faux-surfer charm in the world won't save you from that D on the first essay. Bitchin'!

To the computer science guy:

Thank you so much for informing me that you believe the way I conducted our composition class on the first day was inane and inefficient. I know. I did have everyone put their desks in a circle so we could see one another. I just wasn't aware that this meant that I was turning class into a "therapy session." I don't recall asking anyone how he feels about his father, but I guess circles could lead to this kind of thing being so ... round and all. You also were kind enough to inform me that "Education is about thinking, not feeling" and you "just want the facts." I really appreciate your generous sharing of your educational philosophies. Lord knows that the computer science guy in my community college first-year writing class probably has a lot to offer on this topic. And the way you just flat-out attacked the class on the first day shows that you are in no way just rashly judging the situation. I actually said that this class was all about thinking, but maybe you missed this because you were so troubled by the thought of having "to listen to everyone else talk." It must be troubling to be in a class with other people. You probably prefer a blank room with a computer, piping in "the facts" over a high-speed connection. If only the world could be this kind of angular, robotic, people-less paradise! We wouldn't need this reading and writing crap at all!

To my new favorite student's mother:

I haven't met your son yet, but I can already tell he's a winner. How? Who but a winner would have his mother email me about missing the first day of class? Not only this, but you managed to email me late, and with so many errors that I had a hard time understanding the message! That's something. And to top it all off, your son is not missing the first day of class because he is incurably ill, mildly sick, or even on an end-of-summer beach extravaganza. You're son is missing class because he is "bear hunting." Out tracking grizzlies somewhere. Can't be bothered right now. I cannot wait to meet the kid who loves slaughtering large, angry animals just as much as he loves his mother. I only hope he can write a bit better.

Some Friendliness for Fone-Addicted Farrah.

• What kind of class is Farrah teaching where she thinks students need instant emergency help at all hours of the day? Whatever it is, will someone please tell Farrah that her problem is her own? Nobody is making her answer those emails the moment she gets them, and quite frankly, if they annoy her, tell her to turn the stupid thing off. Professors have a life too, don't they?
  


• If you are going to allow this technological wackness in your life for some people, you are going to have to expect everyone will use it, including students who have access to the address. Tell your students you only have email access at your office, and you can't respond during evenings or weekends. Also, are they asking dumb questions? Maybe tell them that if they email you with a question that can be answered by, say, reading the syllabus, they will be ignored. I create blogs for students to post to; you could try that (blogger is easy to use) and encourage them to discuss assignments there with each other. I mean, if they are all online at crazy hours, they might get a faster response than trying to badger you with their inquiries.
  


• Today's students are needy, needy, needy. And if you give them an electronic lifeline into the grade-grubbing arena, they'll latch onto it like a tit. Boundaries have to be set early and enforced often. Luckily for Farrah, this problem is a cinch to solve. First of all, set up a separate email account or folder for your student emails, and under no circumstances should you allow these emails to find their way to your phone, to disrupt your dinner, to disrupt your TV watching time. Secondly, tell the students that you check your email only once a day and never on weekends. Then, tell them you will not answer homework questions over email. If students have questions about the homework, they should be seeing your during your office hours. Don't worry--they won't flood your office the way they flood your inbox. That requires too much physical effort.



• First-timer Farrah needs to cowboy up and set some damn limits -- lest she end up at the beck and call of students who can't seem to take a dump and successfully wipe themselves without needing extra support, remediation and validation. It is perfectly acceptable to explain that e-mails and phone calls will be answered within 48 hours. Period. Getting back to them immediately is only enabling their learned helplessness.



• Farrah, if you're a computer programming prof, I have a feeling that you also know how to program your cell phone. Make it stop downloading your email, or at the very least make it stop beeping when it downloads your email. Once you've done this, set some limits. Tell them that you'll answer their emails within a set time limit (I usually do 24-48 hours, depending on how frequently the class meets), and that if they haven't heard from you by the next class, they can ask if you've received their email. Answering them immediately tells them that you are available 24-7. Making them wait tells them that you, too, have a life. Remember the old saying: "Lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on mine." Just step away from their emails - you'll be glad you did.



• The hardest thing about being a new academic is learning that you have a right to say “no,” and that it is OK to do so. You can close your door and not answer it despite someone’s persistent knocking, you can refuse to work on a project. So, just because your students e-mail you doesn’t mean you have to answer. Ignore them, and if you can’t, it points to your OCD not theirs. If you absolutely cannot ignore the incessant beeping, then ask yourself why your e-mails are so important that you have to download them onto your phone 24/7. Again, this is not about them. It’s about you.



• Your students are your students, not your bosses. You don't need to reply instantly when they e-mail you. You need to disable e-mail notification on your phone. If you have someone that needs to get hold of you on a moment's notice, get a different e-mail account and slave that one to your phone. Eventually your students will discover that you don't answer e-mail when you're not in the office. I hold one virtual office hour every week, when I'm available by e-mail for a specified time period. Otherwise, they need to wait until I have time to answer.



• Welcome to 24/7. When they signed up for your class, they attached an umbilical cord. You belong to them. They know this because mommy and daddy told them the world belongs to them. The same defect that makes the other snowflakes beg for grades they haven't earned. They'll earn the grades, but they really do expect that you will be right there with them 24/7, reassuring them. If you make the mistake of thinking otherwise, they'll climb the ladder to the top of the realm to make sure someone knows you aren't doing your job.

First-Timer Farrah from Florida Fears The Fone. It's Got An OFF Button, Right?

After reading your blog last spring to see what I am in for, I was prepared for the worst with my new faculty position. So far, I am pleasantly surprised. My students are doing well and learning the material that I am trying to teach them. I was particularly concerned about my freshman programming class, but almost all of them submitted working programs for their first assignment. I had a little trouble getting the students in my junior class to use the software that I wanted them to use, but it turned out to be the result of an obscure bug in the program which I needed to work around. My special topics class is going great. The kids are doing problems on the board and participating in class discussions.

There is one cloud on the horizon, though. The students email me twenty-four hours a day. I finished my undergrad work nearly twenty years ago and went to work in industry. Until ten years ago, when I left the office that was it. No one could reach me. Ten years ago my employer at the time ran an ISDN line to my apartment so that I could continue working while I was at home, but my bosses did not send me emails on evening or weekends. They wanted to spend time with their families.

Students are different. They often do their homeworks late at night and expect me to answer their questions. If they email me past nine o'clock, they are out of luck because I am in bed. But they email me for all the time before that. They email me when I am eating dinner, or when I am relaxing with a beer, or when I am changing into my pajamas. My stupid cellphone downloads their email and beeps to tell me that they need help. What can I do to get a handle on this situation? My friend tells me that this is the digital convergence and that the only way to avoid it is to be a neoluddite.

Are there any other suggestions?

Some Affable Advice for Angular Anne.

• Oh, Annie. You're fucked. This is the way it works in adjunctland. I've been a resident there for 3 years, 3 terrible years since I finished my Ph.D. in Sino-American Literature. (And I can't find a job? Who knew?)
  
  
  You'll need to find an old-pro adjunct you can latch on to. There will be plenty around. Go to wherever the mailboxes are (those dark rooms with 235 individual mail cubbies) and look for someone who is stooped of shoulder and carrying a canvas tote bag bulging with papers, staplers, pencils, a lunch, water bottle, etc. That's the person. Ask your questions. Act dumb. Be nice. Beg if you must.
  
  
  The thing is, there are ways to find out how the game is played, but NOBODY in the regular college can really help you. There's a guilt among "regulars" about us adjuncts. Inside they know they're ripping us off, AND the students, and it helps them to cluster around the other tenured folks and talk about mission statements and departmental outcomes. Realizing that a veteran adjunct HAS TO CALL CAMPUS SECURITY TO GET LET INTO HIS CLASSROOM EVERY SINGLE MORNING BECAUSE THE DEPARTMENT IS TOO FUCKING DUMB AND LAZY TO PROVIDE A KEYCARD THAT ACTUALLY WORKS just gets in the way of the good they like to think they're doing.
  
  
  Buy into the adjunct subculture of your college. Those folks know the tricks, the passages, the pathways to doing a good job in your classes...oh, and hang in there. Just think of all the luxuries your salary is paying: rent, car payment, used shoes, generic cans of beans.
  


• You need to make friends with the department secretary, pronto. Treat her (him? not likely) as a professional with answers. Bring cookies if necessary. Come in with a list (and a pencil to write down answers), and smilingly ask for the kindergarten version, because you are starting from nothing. Ask all the same questions you asked for here--including whether there was a mailing you missed or an email list you should have been on. (And maybe add on a couple more about payroll and long-distance phone calls.)
  
  
  The questions you're asking are cultural, the kind of thing that's not written down anywhere because everyone already knows. If you're lucky, the secretary will adopt you: she'll start calling IT to find out why you can't get into your email, she'll call the bookstore and smooth the path to getting your books, she'll help you navigate the parking office, she'll call the secretary in the other building with the locked classroom (and with any luck she won't have had a falling-out with this woman back when they both worked in the Registrar's office.)
  
  
  If she does adopt you, program her phone extension into your cell phone. She can be your most valuable ally. Oh, yeah, and see if you can find out first what her title is. If she's an "office specialist" or a "unit business manager" or a "grand high departmental potentate," don't call her a secretary.