I’m in an intro-Shakespeare class, which is a 200-level and required for the Shakespeare minor at my university. Our first assignment: that freshman-year-of-high-school classic, “translate Shakespeare into contemporary English!” (Which I’ve always found to be redundant – he wrote in English, people – and part of the reason why the “Shakespeare is indecipherable to the common man” myth remains so prevalent – but that’s a Pitting for another day.)
I finish my assignment, hate myself a little for cheapening “The Phoenix and the Turtle” with my hack specifics, and run it off on the printer.
Twenty minutes later (this is at 8:45 the evening before a 9 AM class) there’s a knock on my door. Yes, he interrupted Arrested Development. It’s a young man I recognize vaguely from the same class, sporting a dark grey hoodie and lightly bloodshot eyes.
“Hey,” he says. “You’re in my Shakespeare class, right?”
“Yes,” I say.
“D’jou finish the homework?” he says.
“Yes,” I say. Behind me, I can hear GOB’s ether-soaked black hand puppet Franklin giving Lucille the kiss of death.
“Can I take a look at your paper? I was having some trouble with it,” he says.
“Sure,” I say, and thrust it at him. He ambles off down the hall. I sit down to watch the rest of my show.
[commercial break.]
I’m struck with a bolt of realization that Bloodshot Young Man may be, at this very moment, copying my paper word-for-word and preparing to turn it in as his own work, and I have no idea what to do. Am I just being paranoid? After just reading about all of the Laura K. Krishna shenanigans this afternoon, I’m aware that some people do really really stupid things re: cheating.
He comes back fifteen minutes later, hands me my paper, and tells me that it’s been “a big help.” I say “You’re welcome” and take it back.
…Am I just being paranoid? It certainly wasn’t a very good paper (it certainly wasn’t a very good assignment), but it was my paper. I don’t really want to go up to the professor and say “Hey, just in case you received two papers that were identical, and one of them was mine? Mine’s the real one.”
Or, rather – for those of you who are or have been professors – how would you prefer a student deal with something like this?