Craccum Throwback | Let's Play Intellectuals

Originally published October 9, 1978, Craccum Vol. 52 No. 25

It's the last issue of the year, see. And we may as well go out as we went on, so to speak. There are those you who have criticised our apparent reliance on Victoria University's paper. Salient. It's all rubbish, of course (deliberate ambiguity?) Anyway, we've done it again, one last time. And not a mention of superpowers, East Timor or even NZUSA .......

Exams, as if you need to be told, are a hell of a business. We have it on good authority that General Sherman, who naively said 'War is Hell', had never actually experienced University finals. The amazing thing is, it's not the exams themselves that produce this overwhelming desire in many people to swim out to sea, or hijack a DC10 to Nepal, it's the way you have been taught you must react to them.

Exams, because they are still, whatever your lecturers tell you, the assessment foundation of the entire NZ education system (that well-known endangered species) must be backed up by a well-organised structure of conditioning so that they may work effectively. Thus exams are as effective as the conditioning preceding them in each case: if people don 't respond, if they saunter down to the pub in cold disregard for the traditional practice of living at desk 29754z on floor 5 of the library for a brief but intense period, then the exam system fails.

Unfortunately, this particular library-response is only one of the two most common reactions to exam conditioning. The second includes short-term alcoholism, child-bashing, paranoia, suicide, delusions of grandeur, and the molestation of little old ladies at night. In short, this is the group of people who respond to the cunningly calculated build-up of EXAM FEVER in their class by becoming thoroughly depressed and miserable without the actual additional response of the will to do any work.

(Archivist's Note: The original article has been kept intact without any edit for archival purposes, but with professional practices in the present – and general common sense – 'molestation of little old ladies' or 'child-bashing' are rightly no longer regarded as very funny.)

It is these people this article is directed to, not those transitory Casaubons whose excessive perspiration in the library testifies to their achievement of both levels of response. It must be admitted that these people are actually pursuing what is undoubtedly the surest road to success – the safest way to be sure of passing is to sweat your guts out, to become a weak-kneed pasty faced little swot in high-waisted shorts with dandruff and pimples, and never get asked to dance, and most importantly, after it’s all over and the holidays have begun, get sand kicked in your face by rugby players every time you go to the beach. But for those of you who aren't into that approach, there are other ways.

Firstly, since you've decided not to respond to pre-exam conditioning on that first level (work), it's important not to respond to it on the second – either; i.e. DON'T GET DEPRESSED. There are a great many ways of not being depressed. Some people get immense satisfaction from doing community work – helping people in society more needy and less able than themselves. Of course some people find it very difficult to find anyone in this category. A more popular approach is that of DRUGS: amyl nitrate, heroin, marijuana, cocaine, banana skins, acacia root, crushed lettuce, almost anything will do if you’re desperate enough. The general rule here is AVOID REALITY AT ALL COSTS.

One of the most effective ways of prolonging this escape from exam worry indefinitely is to actually get busted in the process – preferably with a kilo of heroin but in any case the new drug laws guarantee you at least a cool decade or so before parole for pretty well anything. For some people the only sure way to avoid depression is not to ever get out of bed – for weeks if necessary. This is an attractive approach but not one of the most effective because, as you may realise, the key to avoiding exam-depression is to avoid thinking about them; so you must stay either busy or at least completely out of it. And do not think that these suggestions are mere escapism, a refusal to actually tackle the problem of passing. The Lord looks after his own.

Take Bruce Smith for instance. Last year Bruce decided that he couldn't relate to the Multiple Osmosis of Mutually Supplementary Chromosomes in Caspian Sea Dolphins, and to therefore embrace this approach and go and get utterly smashed in the pub instead. On his way home seven hours later he fell into a manhole and broke his arm. Two weeks later he was awarded an aegrotat pass.

This sort of thing is not at all uncommon. If you don't feel confident of such luck as Bruce, you can do things yourself to hurry the process along. Jumping off a 300 foot cliff is probably the surest possible way of getting an aegrotat, but it has rather tricky side effects and is not recommended for the inexperienced; first year students for instance. A much easier way is to just get up tomorrow morning, go out into your back garden (make sure it's a sunny day), and stick your foot under the motor mower. This must be done within hours of the exam however, because you don't actually write with your foot (if you do you shouldn't be reading this article). Loss of blood will need to be your main grounds of argument.

For those of you who object to outdoor work, the kitchen offers a thousand opportunities for seizing the aegrotat. One method that is child's play requires nothing more in the way of raw materials than one onion. Take this common vegetable in your writing hand (do it on a day you’re making curry or some other dish that requires onions), take a sharp knife and slash through both tendons and as much of the wrist as possible, leaving the onion intact. Then call a doctor (you can save time by calling him/her before you actually do it).

I have said this is just one of the simplest kitchen methods, the more ambitious will get excellent results by using a vitamizer instead of a knife, or sticking their head in an oven (only electric ones will do now since the introduction of Natural Gas) or an automatic dishwasher. The important thing is BE POSITIVE, DON'T CHICKEN OUT AT THE LAST MOMENT, AND MAKE SURE YOU GET YOUR TIMING RIGHT. Good luck.

One of the best and most popular ways of getting away from it all is a day at the beach; preferably with a group of irresponsible fun-loving friends and 8 or 9 dozen bottles of something alcoholic. To pass the time and keep your mind o ff exams you can get drunk and hassle people (throwing sand in their eyes is one of the best ways) preferably respectable citizens who will call the police and get you arrested, making it impossible to sit your exam.

Again, if you're going for the ULTIMATE DISTRACTION you can swim out about 200 yards and then make a nick in your leg and wait for it to attract sharks. If this works, offer the shark your writing hand in friendship. Failing this you might be able to grab a passing stingray, or perhaps a moray eel, anyway the main thing is to have tried.

Well, all these things can help you pass the time, but eventually, on a certain day, most of you will have to face the actual task of passing the exam. If you have followed this article and used its approach to replace the University system's conditioning you'll turn up to the exam healthy, happy, well-adjusted, well-rested, sun-tanned, and in complete ignorance about the subject on which you are about to be examined.

Of all these conditions, only the last is completely invisible, providing you play your part well. Thus the very fact of your vital vigorous appearance will severely upset most of the other candidates (your competition) all of whom will be white enough to run for South African Prime Minister; and the examiners (your opposition).

Farting loudly as you walk into the room (casually, 20 minutes late) is a must. It probably won’t affect anyone else but it'll make you feel really good and probably enrage the examiners. When you've sat down (loudly) look at the paper for a minute and then laugh loudly, in the manner of supreme confidence. Then apologise loudly.

By this time all eyes in the room will be riveted on you. Pull out your pen, hold it up to the light, put it down on the table and roll your sleeves up. Then write like blazes, trying to keep it relevant, but concentrating more on speed. Use only the middle four lines of each
page until you've finished and then call loudly for a second answer book. Use this in the same way and then call for a third. By this time most of the room will be terrified and those who aren't will have completely forgotten the answers they have prepared for the questions.

Make sure you have picked a seat in the full sun by a window, and when you've got half way through the third book, tell the examiners it's disturbing you and ask if you can move. This will certainly upset a considerable number of people, especially the closet Casaubons who have been used to the silence of the library, and particularly the others in the room sitting
in the full sun, who will immediately find it an impossible distraction and waste time toying with the idea of asking if they can move too.

Finally, don't forget that you are permitted to eat in the exams. Griffins' Krispies are usually the best for this although something like a multi-layered cream sponge will have the quieter effect of driving the people around you wild with desire. If you feel the need to cheat (if you've done everything I've suggested you probably won't) it's worth remembering that half a dozen Bycroft Crispbreads can take about a quarto page of notes. And of course if the situation gets sticky you can eat the evidence with a great deal of satisfaction, and a great deal of noise.

(Archivist Note: The present UoA exam regulations state "no candidate is to disturb others in the exam room by eating" but perhaps this rule was instated after the efforts of Bycroft Crispbreads connoisseurs.
Though you won't find it any longer, Bycroft Biscuits Limited was an iconic Kiwi brand that began manufacturing out of Auckland in 1845, and its Crispbreads in particular were promoted as a weight-loss food.)

When you've finished eating, burp loudly and then apologise, explaining that you still haven't fully recovered from last night's pre-exam party. This will probably be the last straw, and your triumph will be complete. When the results are posted there should be an announcement to the effect that the class’s performance was disappointing, but the marks will have been upgraded (principally because the Department can't afford to admit that their exam conditioning didn't work) and of course you'll be up there in the A's somewhere. Then you can go back to the beach with the added satisfaction of having beaten the system.

Original Author: JONATHAN SCOTT

(Archivist Note: Chris Slane, one of the artists of the cartoon featured alongside this article is an established political cartoonist with a long history of work. You may have seen many of his cartoons before, but now you also know Craccum published some of Chris's earliest work!

AND IMPORTANTLY!! The original author is none other than Prof. Jonathan Scott from our very own UoA History department. This article was first published in Salient, the student magazine of Victoria University, under the title 'How to Pass Exams Without Really Trying' before its cross-publication in Craccum.
"These days, needless to say, as an examiner I give serious lectures on how to really pass exams." Said Prof. Scott, when asked about it.)