Dear Next Student Who Asks "Do You Bump Up Grades,"
It is the ninth week of school, and in two days the quarter will end. Remember back on the first day of school, when I said there is no extra credit in this class because I like regular credit? Remember how I put that on the syllabus and then I pointed it out to you a couple of times because I knew that I would be asked this ridiculous question when the last couple of days of the quarter drew near?
No? Well, then accept my apologies. I guess I should've made that more clear.
You come up to me in the middle of class while you are working on a group project. You ditch your group and say Ms. Prokott can I see my grade. I show you that your grade is 89.52%. You say oh, man that's so close. Can you just bump it up to an A-? How many percentage points, exactly, does a grade have to be before you bump it up?
I say, I don't bump grades. I wouldn't lower a grade if it was .5% higher than I think it should be, and I'm not just going to throw extra points at you because you are close to an A-. And you say, an A- and a B+ are sooooooo different and that makes a difference on your GPA. Do you know what a big difference that is, Ms. Prokott?
I will tell you student, that your grade reflects how well you've done in class. I tell you that I don't bump grades, and on the rare chance that I do bump grades, it is because the student whose grade is bumped has shown remarkable, above-expectations effort in my class. That student whose grade gets bumped raises her hand during class discussions, she is respectful toward me, she comes in to talk about her work, she doesn't leave her garbage on the floor, she doesn't ask me for a pencil every day, and most importantly she was concerned about her grade the entire quarter rather than two days before I was to submit grades.
That student, Next Student Who Asks "Do You Bump Grades," is not you. You don't raise your hand in class. When you talk, it is to tell the person next to you that you didn't read the assignment or to mention something about that slut in the hall who gave you a dirty look. When you work in groups, you think you're tricking me by swapping "numbers" with the person next to you so you can be in your friend's group. Then, you don't participate in your group's assignment, and you flip open your phone like an expecting father, and you text when you think I can't see you. Then, student, you write essays about how teachers give too much homework and students are overwhelmed. Then, when you get a C on the essay, you whisper to the kid across the row this is SO UNFAIR.
When you forget your book on independent reading day and borrow one of my books, you neglect to put it back on the shelf even though I told you to four times, and instead you leave it on the floor near your desk where it is obvious you've been sitting. In fact, once I found a pop can that you hid on my bookshelf, behind my books, because you were too lazy to walk three feet to put it in the recycling bin. When you aren't so disrespectful you leave a pop can hidden behind my books, you whip empty green Mountain Dew bottles toward the front of the room--sometimes when I'm in the middle of a lecture!--and then when they thunk off the lip of the blue recycling bin and clatter to the floor, you leave them there. Once, I heard you say in the hall who cares if we don't clean up our stuff. It's the custodians jobs to clean up after us.
Then, student, when I tell you that I rarely bump up grades except for the kids who are A+ on effort and participation, you plead and plead and beg. You say but it's SOOOOO CLOSE. Can I just please do extra credit? I'll clean your room. I'll do anything you want me to.
And then, student I am literally, no, so seriously, literally disgusted by you. You are disgusting. Your pleading and begging and desperation makes me sick to my stomach, and I am sad for the kind of person you are, and I am so, so angry that you think this will work--to care only when it's days before the grade is due, when you had nine whole weeks to give a shit earlier, when you got a quiz back--and instead of holding onto it and using it to study for the final test like I told you to--rolled it into a ball as soon as possible and then threw it at the blue recycling bin and didn't pick it up when it bounced off the lip.
And then, student, you say:
Well, what if it was 89.99%. huh? What would you do then?
Fuck you, student. Fuck. You.
Right now, I am supposed to be grading papers, student, but I just had to write you this letter first--I just had to let you know what was up before I tried to do my after-hours paper-grading job. Because this is little to you, but it's eating me inside. You entitlement-generation asshole.
Oh, by the way. Let's recall a conversation we had last week. I was introducing the play Raisin in the Sun. I asked you the question--Can anyone achieve the American Dream? you said, yes, anyone can achieve it if they try hard enough.
But I gave you a chance. I gave you a discussion question the next day that said really? Can they? Really? Please think about it.
And you, student, you raised your hand and said yes--anyone who is not entirely lazy can achieve the American Dream. And then, student, we argued back and forth, and I brought up race and gender and unfortunate circumstances, and the hand you're dealt not being fair no matter how much you want to win the round, and I said what if I wanted to play professional baseball even though I'm a woman and you said if you were really, really, really, really, really good, then you could, they would let you on the team. You said it doesn't matter if you're poor, you just need to try really hard in school and you will get scholarships to go to college, as though there were trillions of dollars in scholarships floating around, waiting for underprivileged kids (with drug addict parents) to snap them up by caring about school when they don't know where their next meal is coming from.
Do you remember that conversation? Because I do. It nearly gave me an aneurysm.
I guess all I can say here, student is: was it your dream to get an A- in this class? Well, I guess you just didn't TRY HARD ENOUGH. I guess it is just because you're lazy. It had nothing to do with those outside circumstances. I guess you just didn't want it badly enough.
To borrow the words and timing of the amazing Professor Ronsman:
I QUIT.
Enjoy your B+, student. It's nothing to be ashamed of, but so many other things you've done in class are.
I'm embarrassed for you and your Justin Bieber haircut,
Ms. Prokott
Same shit, different outfit.