Once More Into the Fray

It's begun.

For the next week, undergraduates and graduates will partake in one of the College's most time-honored traditions: Shopping Period.

But, as many of us already know (or will soon find out), it is not pretty. Having gone through shopping period last year, I assumed I was prepared. The night before, I studied all my options. I memorized all the key CUE figures, averaged them, compared them and cross-indexed them. I tried vainly to comprehend the deeper significance of phrases like "a smattering find Professor X's lectures uninspiring" and "a significant minority grumble about the workload." For advice, I phoned close friends and e-mailed total strangers.

And so, armed with a neatly typed crib sheet of some 14 prospective classes, I felt ready to take my place as part of a frenzied mass bent on shopping as many classes as time--or energy--would allow.

It still was not pretty.

At the very first class I shopped (Statistics 100) I was one of those unlucky few that didn't get a syllabus. The pile, located by the door opposite the one from which I entered, was swarmed with determined sophomores before I could even reach it. At the next class (Phil. 168), I did not even get a seat. Craning my neck to hear over the crowd that had amassed by the door to the small Emerson classroom, I caught only bits of pieces of a lecture containing a number of references to "Kant" and "very difficult." As to securing a seat in Historical Studies B-61, "The Warren Court and The Pursuit of Justice," the cause was lost from the start. I joined the huddled masses waiting outside the Fogg but soon lost my resolve.

Trying to get ahead for my next class (Gov. 1582) I arrived ten minutes early. There was one seat in the far corner of the room, which I quickly occupied. I was happy--until I saw the syllabus, which informed me that 50 percent of my grade would be based on a 30-page term paper. Had I known this fact from the start, I wouldn't have shopped the class. And now, since the path to the door had quickly filled up with bodies, the only way out involved causing a substantial ruckus.

At battle's end, I felt weary and frustrated. And that was only the first day.

Not to be misunderstood, I am very much in support of having a shopping period. Most students find it a valuable opportunity and important necessity. But there are number of things that make this cherished tradition a bit less unpleasant.

First, students should be given as much information as possible before shopping period actually starts. Having all class syllabi and reading lists available on the web a few days in advance would greatly help students narrow their field of prospective classes from the very beginning. It would also help to eliminate the frantic rush to get one of the limited-edition paper syllabi distributed at the first class.

Finally, the Core office has an important duty to consider more carefully the relative popularity of classes and assign classroom locations accordingly. The Warren Court, for example, was overrun by students in 1996 and is again in 1998, both because of its enduring popularity and the Core's failing to put the class in Sanders Theatre, where it should be.

As for the remainder of shopping period, well, after a long day today, I'm going to dust off my course guide, steel my nerve and head back into the fray tomorrow.