Tests

I'm giving three final exams today, back to back to back. One class is almost completed with their exam, and then another joins them in about 20 minutes.

I remember taking finals when I was an undergrad and how much stress I felt with each of those exams. I think the worst was College Algerbra, followed by Psychological Statistics. Oh, and Biology 102 gave me an ulcer.

I also remember that the further I went in my college career, the easier the tests became. I took Clinical Methods my third year in grad school, which wasn't part of my program so I had to petition the instructor to allow me to get in. She was pretty cool about it, and I think the other students were a bit freaked by my presence. I often showed up about 20 minutes late to class (mainly because I was teaching another course on the other side of campus), and was always prepared with my readings. When it got to the final, an essay exam scheduled for four hours, I came in, sat down, got the exam, and started writing.

My fellow students, however, started talking as soon as the instructor left the room. (This was very common in my grad program--the professors felt they could trust us). "Can you believe this?" one guy asked. "How many of these questions are we supposed to answer?" They bitched and complained for the first half hour as I kept writting. I was one in just over two and a half hours, and most of the other students were still on the third (of 20) questions. I packed up, grabbed my test, and the unbelieving student looked at me and said "Oh, I supposed you're done already."

"Yup," I replied, "I don't believe in wasting time like some people I know." With that, I left and headed up to the professor's office to drop off the exam. I also informed her of what happened after she left, and she asked if I would pop back in at the four hour mark. I didn't have anything planned, so I told her I would.

At the four hour mark, I returned to the class, and the prof walked in and slid my test over to me--already graded with a 98% mark on the cover sheet. She went around the room and polled the rest of the students, who were all sitting there with their maws wide open. "How far are you?," she asked every one of them. Their answers varied from five questions to tweleve questions completed, and she nodded her head.

"Okay. Turn them in."

It was so quiet you could hear their thoughts ricochetted through their craniums.

"I'm serious. Turn them in."

They started passing the tests in, and the prof collected them. Looked through the papers. Then, looked at the students. "This is not satisfactory. If you had spent the first 30 minutes working instead of talking, most of you'd be done by now. I'll give you one more hour, and whatever is finished at that point is it."

She left the stack of papers at the head of the table, invited me over to the union for coffee, and left them to hang themselves with the rope they wove on their own.

Years later, I ran into two of the other students from that class. They asked about that exam and if I had told the prof about them talking. That's when I told them what the prof told me over coffee. "I knew they were discussing the questions, but I decided not to say anything. You're telling me, and also doing as well as you did, is what made me decide that they needed to have a bit of fear added to the mix." Three people in the class were close to failing, and one person did...but...he only had eight questions answered at the end of five hours.

Anyway, my students are waiting for the exam...and I have a feeling most of them will pass the test. That is a good feeling.

Peace.