The Xerox Complex

Identifying the culprit of my crippling performance did little to save my transcript

Art by Jasmine Gallman | VOX Stafff

By Jasmine Gallman | VOX Staff

This has to be a crime,” I thought to myself bitterly. “Two inches…two inches is the limit, and here I am pushing four!” Exasperated, I watched my binder creak, moan and then finally snap apart, sending my chemistry papers up in the air. Its metal rings were bent beyond recognition, and the plastic folds are horribly chewed down to its ends (looking closely, you could probably make out a nice rivulet of smoke). “Great,” I griped, “my binder is now officially dead, another uncharted casualty of the Xerox Complex.”

What is...?
The Xerox Complex is that oh-so-nagging penchant certain teachers have to make love to their photocopiers, churning out limitless copies as “constructive assignments” with no regard whatsoever for growing boredom and academic failure.

Mangled school supplies, in retrospect, are a problem easily fixed with the right sequence of dollar bills at my local, congested Wal*Mart. More disturbing were the facts that not only was it first semester, but my teacher (who shall not be named but will be made fun of relentlessly for the duration of this article) had yet again strategically copied a massive heap of study packets in the fruitless hope that the Xerox machine would teach for her. Looking at my teacher, you’d think she was an approachable and intelligent person (which in all fairness, she is), so the fact that she frequently resorted to torturing our Xerox machine, and consequently my binders, made very little sense to me. Surely she wasn’t a cold-hearted deviant bent on binder destruction.

After hours of thoughtful observation, I decided her problem wasn’t malice but misguidance and misconception. She really thought we as the students benefited from her tactics. Dumbfounded by my class’s refusal to participate and our incessant failure on exams, my teacher pleaded with our blank stares. Read the packet. Embrace the packet. Finish the packet. Marry the packet. We responded with apathy, telepathically trying to convey our own frustrations: Explain the packet…no wait —just drop the effing packet and teach!

The Disconnect
There was a definite miscommunication as how we learned best. Overwhelmed as we were though, asking her to change was a separate headache in itself. She met our simple suggestions of reform with elongated responses that caused our heads to spin and our eyes to cross, and our advice to her floated in one ear and out the other. After several failed attempts, we took education into our own hands with varying results. A couple of students—genetically altered geniuses—fared well without help. Some swam on by, (barely) passing exams by questionable means. While others, myself included, had failed the course miserably without a dependable mentor.

Somewhere down the line, my teacher had dismissed the disconnect between elementary and high school teaching methods entirely. In elementary school, our curriculum was a streak of worksheets piled on, one after another, which was oddly acceptable, even efficient, but high school teaching requires an engaged interaction between teacher and student. No longer was it acceptable for us students to idly ingest information without exploring or questioning what exactly we were supposed to gain. We understood that whatever we take from our studies travels with us to better pave the way toward our future careers. and taking nothing away would be a total and devastating waste of time.

My U.S. history teacher was a shining example of what it took to reel students in for the ultimate learning experience. Textbooks were dead to her. Packets, if used at all, were effective cruel and unusual punishment for slacking off. Everything she taught was broken down in her own words and presented in ways that we could understand. It was rare to see students at a loss for what to do or asleep. The energy in the room was always wild and vibrant, and I felt I was never in a state of confusion that couldn’t be fixed. But having that taste of real teaching in my system made returning to the confines of the Xerox Complex felt like an insult to my intelligence. The amount I took away from those classes are at opposite ends of the spectrum, chemistry being the obvious low.

Advice to the Masses
So I say to teachers who are leaning toward the temptations of the Xerox, stop in the name of rationality. It takes passion to make another learn. But take heart: All it takes is a little effort. Being available for a one-on-one talk, and being willing to repeat yourself over and over…and over again until the lesson sinks in, are just the simplest examples. Plus, it never hurts to be a little creative in your lesson.

Since I escaped the dreadful four walls of chemistry class, I am left to contemplate the origins of my failing grade. My own lack of intelligence in that field was largely to blame, but I believe firmly that if not for the clutches of the Xerox Complex, I could have passed with flying colors (or at least a modest C). However; I can’t whine forever expecting a change. All I can hope is that senior year has a specialized quarantine for this disease.

Jasmine is a senior at North Atlanta and plans to stalk My Chemical Romance in the near future.