Potato Finch Monologue

It’s time. It’s finally come to my attention that at last, I choose to finally expose the horrors and uselessness of what we know as “busy work.” If there’s one everlasting imprint sunken deep down in my temporal lobe, it’s during my prepubescent years: my introduction to the phenomenal human biology. Every bright and early morning, at exactly 7:00 am, this one class ravaged my entire mindset for the rest of the day. Every student had to sit down, write notes, receive a packet of worksheets weighing just about two-thousand pounds, “diligently” work on the packets for the next couple days; we got no help from the bowling ball of a teacher that sat on her computer loudly snacking on potato chips unless if someone had a question like, “What does the word gynaecomastia mean?” and the super constructive response given is a couple of words like, “man boobs,” as she continued to eat her obesity. CRUNCH CRUNCH. We turned it in, didn’t review the packet, took a quiz, then rinse and repeat. Sounds like we learn a lot, right?

I’ve had enough of it, and I’m ready to educate myself and my peers in a way that even if a teacher wanted to sit and eat potato chips all day, I’d still be able to figure out how to teach myself. Ready for my simple proposal? What if every single class, yes, all six, seven, or eight classes attended a day, gave nothing but a single, year-long workbook containing nothing but our homework, vocabulary, examples, pictures, and students were required to take notes from the workbook. On top of that, the school only had (because they only need) one teacher to “teach” every student. That’s it. One gargantuan textbook for each class so that a teacher can not only eat potato chips, but also watch netflix at the same exact time! Woo-hoo! It’s a win-win for both sides; schools save money; easy cha-ching put in the bank; students get an outstanding education; students earn the meaningful “A” that clearly demonstrates their intelligence. Everyone’s