Hey Professors, Stop Calling on Me

I’m trapped in Faculty Memorial Hall on a Thursday morning, shifting uncomfortably in my seat every two minutes, unable to stop thinking about breakfast sandwiches. I’m copying down the notes from the PowerPoint, tapping my pen against my chin, and drawing random lines in the margins of my notebook. The professor asks the class a question, and I do everything in my power to slip into the void to remain invisible. The lines in my notebook are suddenly the most interesting thing I’ve ever seen! But then, it happens. A giant spotlight shines down from above and hits me directly in the eye. There’s nowhere to run now. I’ve just been randomly called on even though I’ve done nothing to suggest that I want to answer this question.