By Bradford J. Senning
Arizona Daily Wildcat
April 30, 1998

Teacher evaluations: Eat my shorts

When L. L. Bean sent me some underwear from their telephone catalog services they sent a survey along with it. The survey asked me to comment not on the product but the service I received.

If I don't like the product I can send it back for a refund. That's how I express my dissatisfaction with stuff I buy.

Service is a different matter. I have to fill out forms and be explicit about what was cool and what absolutely ate my shorts about some other human.

The reason I bring this up is that the university is expecting me to evaluate the service of their teachers this week and next week. And all I can think about is how this reminds me of ordering underwear from L. L. Bean.

The product I get from the university is an education, or, more abstractly, a diploma. I can't send this product back or exchange it for, like, some new duds. I can't ever expect to hold Peter Likins up by the ankles and shake him up and down so my money is returned to me from his trouser pockets. But I can comment on the service. I can tell the bosses how their help is doing.

I need to mention this because once we recognize our place as consumers at the university I would hope we also realize how much it sucks.

Tweak, the representative from L. L. Bean catalog services, graduated from Twainsneck University with a degree in marketing. Professors of mine studied for ten years at schools that wouldn't even let Tweak water the ivy, let alone give him a diploma. Tweak's job is to serve me. My professors jobs are to challenge me, sometimes by expecting too much of me and upsetting me.

That doesn't mean they are above criticism. It just means we have to evaluate them in ways not reminiscent of plaid undergarments and "Thank you for holding."

My theory behind this requires a great deal of your approval. So please, as you read, nod as if you agree with me. If you are in class while you read this, look up at your teacher from time to time and give him a thumbs up like what he says is righteous and you are really impressed.

You see, teachers are humans. They like feedback. But to set up a formal evaluation process subjects the activity of teaching to an Olympic ice-skating style of scoring. I give him a 10 on form but a 9 on attitude because he didn't smile.

I don't approve of the ethos that allows for the prevailing corporate trend in universities. Professors are attending Total Quality Management seminars. Students are being read legal disclaimers about plagiarism at the beginning of the semester which are printed right on the syllabus like surgeon general warnings on packs of cigarettes. And I have to comment about my teachers' "effectiveness" in a survey.

Some of the best teachers I've had are unpopular. Students complain about them outside of class. There's too much reading to do. The tests are too difficult. The teacher doesn't delight us with anecdotes about his dog.

But if you corner the disaffected students with a discussion about the material you find out that they can practically recite the concepts in their sleep. Students live up to challenges, though they may not appreciate the course work's intrusion into their social lives.

That's the difference between the university and a business. We aren't supposed to like our teachers the way we like the waitress who serves our beer. We extol our appreciation upon teachers with terms like "respect" and "admire." I don't think they should make subjects more entertaining so we compliment their effectiveness. The effectiveness of a teacher is determined by our willingness to learn as much as their ability to instruct.

Here is the bottom line. Business is the wrong model for universities. Evaluations are great when you want better service, but not when you want a better education. And though underwear gets sold to me with the utmost gentility, my professors are dealing with part of my body requiring a less supple system of support. So I expect them to please be more abrasive. To be less than a cottony dud.

Brad Senning is a senior majoring in American literature and creative writing. His column, "The Emperor of Ice Cream" runs every week or so.