Dearest Gentle Reader,
’Tis time to discuss the obvious? Indeed, as students and faculty alike have returned to their scholastic endeavors this autumn, a notable transition has been none other than the unprecedented cellphone prohibition.
It is amusing that the activities predicted to be most grievously missed do not align with the surfacing challenges that this author has experienced thus far. In truth, the predicaments arising are rather unforeseen.
Consider the following illustration, loyal reader. It is the hour for luncheon, and your professor (while appropriately appreciated for their enthusiasm) has yet to conclude their lengthy lecture on the derivative of a function, though a monstrous three minutes ago did your recess commence.
Your dearest comrade, whose company you enjoy whilst you dine, is awaiting your presence in the literary chamber: a standing rendezvous has been instated to ensure a swift reunion before venturing to the dining hall.
Once your lesson has at last concluded, you hastily gather your papers and thrust them into your satchel. Your wish is to exit the classroom promptly, for you worry your comrade is growing impatient. But alas, your professor (again, of whom you hold the sincerest respect) has decided that this moment is the optimal opportunity to inquire about your summer happenings. Once again delayed, you recount your holiday with polite concision and reciprocate their tender interest.
By this moment your dining partner is becoming agitated with your tardiness. They decide there is little reason not to visit the water closet whilst they await your arrival. In the interim, you have finally escaped your academic confinement. The call of nature is strong for you as well, but you avoid such a detour out of respect for your rendezvous and the concern of furthering your acquaintance’s stand-by.
When you arrive at the literary chamber, you notice your comrade’s satchel on the floor. They must have surrendered all hope of your arrival and ventured on to the dining hall without you! Feeling equally ashamed as betrayed, you carry on to your luncheon in solitude. Naturally, at this time, your comrade returns from the lavatory and observes your satchel—the mark of your passing — beside their own. They cannot help but sigh at the consequence of their well-intentioned yet fateful mistake.
This tale of a simple delay escalating into an unfortunate incident could have been remedied with a brief cellular correspondence. How ever did one manage in the ancient, pre-technological era?
For in the preceding year, cellular communication was used preemptively to avoid such a predicament. The abbreviated term — and dear reader, you must excuse such filthy language — “lib” was messaged to indicate one’s presence in the literary chamber, and “math bath” for the lavatory nearest the arithmetic quarters.
Among other difficulties is the rise in tardiness. This author hardly took note of how heavily she once depended on her cellular device to give her the knowledge of the hour. Lacking the privilege of time readily available at their disposal, many scholars are wholly unaware that their following lesson is to begin in a mere heartbeat! It seems the previously waning quip “time for you to get a watch” is suddenly most relevant once more.
I do believe even professors have been taken aback by the unexpected changes that the cellphone prohibition provokes. Indeed, cellphones, though not often, were at times even encouraged for educational purposes. Namely, cellphones were used during class meetings in order for students to respond to surveys in a timely manner. They were convenient for the quizzing of material through “Kahoots,” for the photographing of the professor’s teachings on the board and for the scanning of hieroglyphic squares emblazoned on posters throughout the academy. Now, those same behaviors must be de-influenced.
So, without question, the transition has proven trying for scholars and facilitators alike. But bless me, dear reader, in earnest I say I do not miss the inevitable thud as one’s device falls to the auditorium floor during assembly, or the burst of sound from the less-than-holy act of a student leaving their volume on high whilst sneaking their cellphone under their escritoire.
And I cannot be the only witness to the shift in atmosphere in the common area. It lifts my spirits to take a gander through the common area and observe students engaging in real-life conversation. There is a warmer, more inviting air, not just in said common area, but in the institution as a whole.
The policy is no minor change, and the disadvantages it summons shall not be disregarded. But perhaps such an undertaking is the very cultural shift that this institution was long overdue for?
Sincerely yours,
Lady Knightingale
