“I’m hardly a slob. I’m not even the worst-dressed faculty member on campus. There’s one older professor who wears a torn-up T-shirt and shorts with holes to office hours, and another one who regularly shows up in yoga pants after her yoga sessions. I figure, if I’m dressed better than them, I’m in great shape.”
Ethan groaned, grabbed Blayne by the hand and led him back to the bedroom for an impromptu clothing makeover.
* * * *
Thirty minutes later, Blayne left the apartment and went to campus. The afternoon flew by. He had two back-to-back sections of composition. As usual, his students weren’t ready for their peer workshops. As he walked around the room, he saw at least one apparent case of a student who had used generative artificial intelligence to write the paper.
“Mr. Bixby, I would rewrite that paper before you hand it in next week. I can tell you didn’t write it. I’ve seen enough papers written by large language models to spot them from a mile away.”
“I didn’t use—”
“Don’t. Please don’t,” Blayne said, cutting the student off. “We both know you didn’t write that. I’ve seen your writing. That’s not it.”
As Blayne walked away, he heard the student grumble, “I swear the guy I bought the paper from promised it was written by an actual human.”
Blayne thought about spinning around and saying something but decided it wasn’t a battle he wanted to engage in that afternoon. He’d learned long ago that some confrontations weren’t worth having when it comes to teaching. You never lower your standards, but always consider the possible costs before engaging. If you nitpicked at everything and took on every fight, your teaching evaluations tanked, and you wouldn’t create a classroom environment that fostered learning.
Thankfully, Blayne kept himself busy reading over students’ shoulders and answering questions. By the time the class ended, he was ready to go home.
Blayne packed up his bag and joined the stream of students as he left the classroom. He turned the corner in the Akokisas Lecture Center and found security guards outside a classroom. “What’s that about?” Blayne asked himself.
“That’s Dr. Martinez’s political science class,” Emma Davis said, coming up on Blayne’s right.
“Oh…hey, Emma. I didn’t see you there.”
“Then who were you talking to?” Emma inquired.
“I was talking to myself.”
“That’s either a sign of genius or insanity,” Emma replied.
“Hopefully, it’s the former not the latter,” Blayne joked. “But why the security?
“Oh, apparently, she’s been on TV talking about the attacks at the arena. My roommate has her for Intro to Poly Sci. She says all Dr. Martinez talks about are White-people terrorists, probably because she’s Hispanic.”
“Wow.” Blayne looked at his student. “You just said the unspoken part out loud, didn’t you?”
“Huh?” Emma replied. “I don’t understand. Of course, I was talking out loud. I’m not psychic like my aunt.”
“And with that”—Blayne did everything to control his facial expression—“I’m going to go sit in on her lecture.”
He made his way to the door. A security guard checked college ID cards against a class roster, so Blayne couldn’t just attend the lecture. He looked at the guard, “Any chance I can sit in on her lecture?”
“No. Per the campus higher-ups, only registered students are allowed in this room.”
“Oh well, thanks,” Blayne said politely. “Well, it was worth a try.”
He walked away. The lecture center was designed with a curved wall then a staircase down to the next level. He had just hit the stairs when he heard someone yell, “Mr. Dickenson.” He turned and found his favorite barista, not exactly his best student, Todd Rice, poking his head out the door. “Over here.” Blayne scrunched up his face in confusion. “It’s Martinez’s class.”
This was probably a bad idea, but he hustled over, and Todd let him through the side door into the lecture classroom. The place wasn’t packed, so there was room for an extra student or two. He followed Todd to the back of the room, where his student had his stuff.
“I noticed you were trying to get in. They’re such hardasses about this,” Todd said.
“You probably shouldn’t have let me in, Todd,” Blayne said, looking around the room to see if anyone would throw him out of the classroom.
“I know you’re not here to kill Professor Martinez, so I didn’t think letting you in was a big deal. Besides, it’s not like the room is full.”
A side door opened at the base of the lecture hall, and a guard held the door as Professor Martinez entered the room. She had a refillable bottle of water that she sat on at the front desk before she started up the classroom technology. One student approached her. The guard at the bottom of the room eyed the student but didn’t move to intercept her. The student and professor had a brief conversation as Dr. Martinez continued preparing for class. The overhead projector screen rolled down in the room’s front as the light in the box bolted into the ceiling turned on, showing the university logo as the professor logged into her account. Dr. Martinez had her slide deck up and running in a few minutes.
