Page 2/ r The Battalion/Friday, January 23, 1987
The Battalion
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Member of
Texas Press Association
Southwest Journalism Conference
The Battalion Editorial Board
Loren Steffy, Editor
Marybeth Rohsner, Managing Editor
Mike Sullivan, Opinion Page Editor
Jens Koepke, City Editor
Jeanne Isenberg, Sue Krenek, News Editors
Homer Jacobs, Sports Editor
Tom Ownbey, Photo Editor
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tion.
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Final fiasco
President Vandiver’s new policy for final examinations itself is in
need of caref ul examination.
Beginning Spring 1988, finals for all students — including grad
uating seniors — will begin on Friday and Saturday of what is now
dead week and continue on Monday and Tuesday of the following
week. This plan is supposedly a compromise to benefit students, fac
ulty and administrators, but what’s really being compromised is com
mon sense.
The policy was adopted so professors would not have to give fi
nal exams twice. But the resulting problems are not worth the conve
nience.
An obvious problem is that students will have less time to prepare
for their exams. Students who have lab finals and projects due dur
ing dead week will have exactly one evening —Thursday — to pre
pare for finals the next day. And Saturday, a day previously set aside
for all-day study sessions, will be devoted, at least in part, to finals.
That, in itself, wouldn’t be so bad if the new schedule had other
merits. It doesn’t.
Because grades for graduating seniors are due Tuesday evening
after the last exams, professors have less time for thorough grading.
Further, a glitch in the computer system could postpone gradua
tion, which, according to the new plan, already is pushed back to the
weekend after finals.
Considering the system’s track record, it’s only a matter of time
before this happens, infuriating thousands of graduates — not to
mention parents.
Instead of implementing the new plan, why not follow the rec
ommendations of student and faculty senators and administrators
who studied the problem extensively? This plan allows graduating
seniors to take finals during dead week and the rest of the student
body to take exams during the regular finals week.
The idea of requiring seniors to take finals isn’t unreasonable,
but inconveniencing faculty members, 33,000 undergraduates and
risking the postponement of commencement is.
Please read
Judith Martin,
AKA Miss Man
ners, was once my
colleague at the
Washington Post,
so I’m sure she’ll
excuse me if I dub
myself Mr. Man
ners. I was raised
to say “Thank
You,” to pardon Richard
myself when inter- Cohen
rupting and to ask
to be excused when leaving the table,
upon which I was not permitted to put
my elbows: “Richard, Richard, well and
able, take your elbows off the table.” I
did.
It is for these reasons that, late in life,
I am perplexed and sometimes played
for the fool. For instance, I often find
myself saying “You’re welcome” to ma
chines that say “Thank you.” I did this
repeatedly about two years ago when I
made the mistake of renting a talking
Chrysler. It told me when the door was
ajar, when my seat belts were unbuckled
and when I needed to turn off the en
gine because the whole thing was about
to blow up. Everytime I buckled up as
instructed, the car would say “Thank
you” and I would instinctively say
“You’re welcome.”
After half-a-day in the car, I stopped
responding to it. But I still can’t break
the habit with the phone company.
When using a credit card, I sometimes
get a recording that asks for my num
ber. I give it, there’s a pause, then the
recording says “Thank you.” From my
mouth comes “You’re welcome.” The
same thing happens when I get a person
who, in personality, is hardly different
from a machine. The personoid inva
riably says “Thank you for using
AT&T,” to which J say “You’re welco
me” — but always too late. The perso
noid has hung up.
I naturally resent being treated like
Pavlov’s dog, responding to a stimulus.
Not only is it stupid for a machine to
thank me — a machine can be neither
grateful nor thankful — but it is also
stupid for me to carry on a dialogue
with a collection of wires and silicon
chips. My bank machine says “Thank
you.” Answering machines say “Thank
you,” and so, for that matter, do restau
rant checks. I whisper “You’re welco
me” to them.
Just as machines now act like people,
strangers act like pals. It is a common
occurrence for people to call me on the
phone and call me Richard right off.
Worse, is the stranger who asks if I pre-
this column
fer Richard or Dick, and even worse is
my refusal to give an honest answer:
“Mr. Cohen’ would be just fine.” I say
nothing like that, though, and pretty
soon some guy I never met before is
calling me by my nickname.
I have a similar difficulty when I call
an airline for a reservation. First, I get a
machine that tells me that all the reser
vation clerks are busy but, in the words
of United Airlines, the next available
clerk will be with me when he or she is
available. Then comes the worst part. A
woman answers and says, “Hi, this is
Debbie.” What am I supposed to say?
“Hi, this is Dickie”? I’ve called to find
out if there’s a flight to Akron and here
I am talking to some lady as if she just
sat down next to me in a cocktail lounge:
“Hi, I’m, Debbie. What’s your sign?” “A-
quarius, Debbie. Do you fly to Akron?”
Back in the days when stewardesses
were pronounced obsolete after they ei
ther married or turned 30, I found my
self unable to handle these Flying Flirts.
They were instantly so friendly, so
warm — so inquiring. “What’s your
name?” “What do you do for a living?”
It all made me very uncomfortable. I
knew they were not interested in me —
not my personality, anyway. I used to
envy guys who could banter with the
stews, who seemed not to know, or not
to care, that the women were being paid
to be friendly. There is a word for that-
I need time to establish relationships.
I like to go from Mr. Cohen to Richard
to...may I call you Dick? Each step is a
doorway through which I alone want to
do the admitting. To call me Dick right
off, to announce that you are Debbie, is
tantamount to barging right in. Who in
vited you? What do you want? You don’t
even care about me. Leave me alone!
The fact is, I have been programmed
to respond to people in certain ways.
And the fact is that machines and their
human equivalents have been pro
grammed to take advantage of the way I
have been programmed. Like Don
Quixote, I was raised for a bygone age.
Waiters announce their names to me.
Who cares? AT&T thanks me for using
it when, most of the time, I don’t even
have a choice.
I cling to the lessons of childhood. I
respond to talking cars, thank machines,
say “Pardon me” to lamposts I brush
and call people by their titles. I am the
Mr. Manners of the technological age,
t ilting at machines as if they were people
and, slowly, treating people as if they
were machines.
Thank you for reading this.
Copyright 1986, Washington Post Writers Group
Don’t mess with destiny
I always be
lieved a person
was responsible
for the events that
happened in his or
her life. I was cer
tain that I con
trolled my circum
stances — good or
bad. If something
awful happened it
was my fault be
cause I made a
one guy’s hair. He later asked if Tama-
rron’s insurance covered hair loss.
Luckily, we all walked away without any
serious injuries, only a few bruises, mi
nor cuts from broken glass and for one
guy a sizeable bald spot.
have already been unpacked and
in our rooms. But I didn’t. I leans)
can’t control everything in youri
keeping a sense of humor
will help you live through it.
mistake or I let someone else make it for
me. But of course, that’s not always true.
I found that out the hard way on my
first ski trip during the holidays.
The bus driver sat paralyzed in his
seat. Someone yelled at him to open the
doors. We grabbed our stuff and got off
the bus before it tipped over and sank to
the bottom of the lake. As I reached the
top of the bank I turned back and
looked at the bus. My boyfriend was
helping get the skis off the side of the
bus, a girl who came on the trip with us
was taking pictures, and I was standing
there laughing.
The next day, we spent ab
hours taking ski lessons.
Most of us had never skied,scl
fun learning together. Bytheenjl
week we were skiing intermedia!!!
and the guys even ti ied an exp;'® j
I lu- irsi <>l the trip was perftdHties
crowds were gone so there
ing for the lif ts — Coloradogottl
snow it had seen all winter durirJ
week, and best of all no brokeDj
sprains or delays coming home.
My boyfriend and I started planning
the trip in October and decided to in
clude four of our friends — actually, I
had never met two of those friends be
fore, but it turned out we all got along
great. After all our planning, budgeting
and anticipation the day to leave finally
arrived. Unfortunately, two of the guys
we were supposed to meet at the airport
didn’t show.
So much for controlling your circum
stances. If 1 had had my way, we would
Jo Streit is a senior journalist-
and a columnist For The BattalioJ
The rest of us sat in the airport bar
waiting and cussing about the other two
being late. While we were in the bar, a
live news report from the airport came
on the TV located above the counter.
The report said a man was holding a
ten-year-old boy hostage and was de
manding a plane and safe passage out of
the country. We ignored most of the re
port — after all it was our vacation, and
we couldn’t be concerned about every
thing that was going on in the world.
The time of our departure finally came
and, with no sign of our friends, we did
the only thing we could. We left without
them.
It turned out our friends missed the
[light to Colorado because they were be
ing held on board their plane from
Houston until the gunman in Dallas
could be arrested. And we just assumed
they were irresponsible and missed the
flight.
We learned later what happened, but
as it turned out, we had our own trou
bles. After our plane landed in the Du
rango airport, we were greeted by some
one from the resort we were staying at.
They took care of our luggage and we
took the bus to go get our ski rentals.
Everything went smoothly until we got
to Tamarron — the place we were stay
ing. Tamarron has a main lodge and ad
jacent condos for their guests. We were
staying in a three-bedroom condo, but it
was too far to walk to from the lodge.
Tamarron provides a shuttle service to
the condos, so we gathered up our
carry-on luggage and piled in —about
thirty people total.
We slowly started up the hill in front
of the main lodge and just when we
reached the top, the engine died. We
started rolling back down the hill, and to
our regret the tire chains proved useless
on the icy road. We slid about 75 yards,
gaining speed the whole way down. No
one screamed. Everyone just calmly
hung on, except for our bus driver who
managed two words — “We’re dead.”
On that courageous note, we fell off a
ten-foot drop and crashed into a lake.
T he back doors of the bus blew open,
and water covered the people in the
rear of the shuttle. Some of the seats
were ripped out, along with a chunk of
Mail Call
Hopping mad
EDITOR:
As students walked to class Thursday morning, they were greeted by
fluorescent-green frog playing a trumpet as two other toads danced mem!
about. As if this were not enough, the students beheld assorted jacks,
turnstiles, mutant cacti, and “The Big Red Thing.” Those who frequent^
party scene in Dallas may remember the frogs in front of a local bar. Itis
good to see that an exhibit that cannot make it in front of a bar can comef 1
A&M and be called “art.”
After such a culturally enriching experience, it was pleasing to discover
that our campus would be graced with its presence until May 4. Gee, even
time we go to class this semester, we can repeat this experience. What fun!
think that, while other schools display King Tut’s exhibit, former students
can return to our campus — for example. Parent’s Day — and see this.
But seriously, while this exhibit may be attractive in other places, its sin
contrast to A&M’s campus creates nothing but an eyesore. We, and most
likely other students, would appreciate its removal.
Joseph Mercuric ’88
Accompanied by 11 signatures
Frozen Ags
EDITOR:
This is a letter concerning the new “modern art” in the vicinity of the ;
Academic and Harrington buildings. First of all Ags, I’ll agree with youtli) 1 |
the stuff is pretty ugly! But what’s fantastic about the whole situation isthL
this traditionally-thinking university has finally had the notion to do
something out of the ordinary! It’s good to know that university officialsa (: |
thawing out of their ice age stances. I think it’s great!
Chris Pantuso
Letters to the editor should not exceed 300 words in length. The editorial staff reserves the right to e
for style and length, but will make every effort to maintain the author's intent. Each letter must Aesipn' 1
must include the classification, address and telephone number of the writer.