|Below is a short essay written by one Melanie Hoshall for a Writing 1 class.|
There are people sitting on the floor working on laptops. No, this is not the latest venue for the Occupy Wall Street movement. It's not a protest, although maybe it should be. There is just no room for these people to sit at the crowded hardwood tables shared by up to six students at a time. There are no available chairs for them to sit on.
This is the IVC Writing Lab and it is simply inadequate to student demand.
Aside from a lack of seating, there's also the noise. There are constant "excuse mes" as elbows are bumped or a bag knocks into someone's chair when a person squeezes down the narrow aisles. Whispered conversations accumulate into unintelligible babble. Add the conversations with the teachers who are there to help students, and the room is a living study of distraction.
I fall into the "easily distracted" group. If two people are talking at the same time near me, I have to watch the mouth of the person talking to me to understand what he or she is saying. For me, the noise in the Writing Lab makes writing there like trying to write in the middle of Times Square on New Year's Eve.
On the other hand, the average age of most students is less than half of mine. They are also a generation already living life at a high rate of distraction. They appear unable to walk, drive, eat, or go to the bathroom without their cellphones. The conditions in the Writing Lab might not even register with them since there’s no app for it.
Those students sitting on the floor of the Writing Lab are trying to sneak in their required hours before they are discovered and tossed out for being a fire hazard. Maybe they are not aware they have cause for protest. After all, it's the end of the semester and it's only for a week or two. Who would they complain to and who would care if they did?
– Melanie Hoshall
The passing of time leaves empty lives
Waiting to be filled
The passing of time
Leaves empty lives
Waiting to be filled
I'm here with the cause
I'm holding the torch
In the corner of your room
Can you hear me?
And when you're dancing and laughing
And finally living
Hear my voice in your head
And think of me kindly