Excuse Me. That's My Spot.

By this point in the semester, the second full week of classes, the routine for the rest of the term has been set. We of the college classroom know where we need to go to find a parking spot for a particular class at a particular hour, which doors have the straightest path to the coffee shop or vending machine, how to most efficiently get from classroom A to classroom B, and where to sit once we are there.

One might think that these routine patterns would create a malaise among the students and instructors, that it would hinder creative academic achievement, but we seem to thrive on it and, in fact, are put off by any change in the norm once the semester has begun. One week, for example, in a graduate class more than a few years ago, I sat in a chair across the room from where I usually sat. This was about three-quarters of the way through the semester, so the unspoken seating arrangement had been firmly set.

My de-chaired classmate came in her usual door at her usual time and stared at me for a bit. I think she thought I had wandered into "her" spot by mistake and politely waited for me to say, "Oops, wrong chair." But I didn't. I just reviewed my notes for the class, pretending I didn't know she was behind me, quivering with indignation, spilling her Starbucks mocha. So, she wandered to a vacant spot, my usual spot (now empty of course), on the other side of the class. Classmates on either side of me were silent, no small talk. The professor stepped over and asked me if something was wrong. "No, not at all," I said. It was as if I had stumbled into the wrong class. People could not make eye contact with me. Discussion was subdued. Everyone seemed thrown off by this breach of educational etiquette, but no one stated the obvious: "You're not in the right seat."

The next week, bowing to peer pressure, I sat in my usual spot, and my classmate sat in hers and her mocha did not spill. Equilibrium was reestablished. Class participation was energized and the universe once again spun unimpeded around its celestial axis. I have since decided that since the purpose of education is to deconstruct our knowledge base and rebuild it with new scaffolding, we need our habits to keep our balance. We will take risks -- and education is certainly a risk -- so long as some things do not change -- like our parking spots, our coffee drinks, and our seats in class.