Instructors Expect You to Learn Telepathy in Lieu of Them Just Figuring out Canvas

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With the dated evil of Blackboard nothing but a weird fever dream of error walls and late updates, you’d think Canvas would feel like a breath of fresh air for professors and students alike. Little did we know, the shift would essentially be read as the largest insult to mankind, with instructors retaliating in the most asinine sense of the word. While some carry on without a hitch, others have decided that Canvas might have very well just murdered their firstborn, and are coming up with ways to avoid the new system, including forcing students to read their minds.

Foregoing all sense of computer competency required to teach a computer competency class, Professor Mike Rowsawlft has taken out his rage and befuddlement on his classes. “I don’t see the point in setting up an online class for my students,” the instructor stated, blankly clicking his way through a game of solitaire. “Honestly, fuck them. They wanna take this class so bad? They can read my mind, I’m not gonna even bother typing up the syllabus.”

Another instructor and PhD student Ingrid Yi, has reached a similar conclusion, albeit with a softer edge. “I told them they’d have to learn telepathy to even bother figuring out my grading scale this semester, but I am offering tutoring sessions on how to bend spoons and use their third eye every third Wednesday of the month in the union basement.” Yi’s students can generally be found in the musty labyrinth, doing their best “James Mcavoy Pretends To Read Your Mind” impressions as they search for evidence of that night’s homework.

Student backlash remains high as ever, with emotions ranging from pure glee at the idea of maybe getting out of having real grades for the semester, to the downright Puritan fear of god when the mere thought of having to repeat LIT2000 strikes them. While some have fully given up hope on ever actually checking Canvas unless the old gods send a swarm of vultures to deliver a class announcement into their hands, others have taken to the library. There, they click for hours, a cycle of aimless refreshing hoping that someday, Rowsawft and his posse of bullheaded educators give up trying to fight the system. Or, as sophomore Danni Torrance puts it, “At least bother offering telepathy tutoring on days when there isn’t street quidditch practice.”

The Eggplant FSU