Group Work: The Beginning of the End

Working together with other people in the context of a group project should foster a creative atmosphere that benefits from a wide spectrum of points of view, experiences, and other such subjective assets. Group work should teach participants the value of teaming up to solve complex problems that one would find too difficult to do alone. It should bestow virtues of personal initiative and perseverance upon people while at the same time allowing them to rely on each other, secure in the knowledge that, together, they can achieve great things.

It should, but it doesn't. Allow me to describe how a typical group project gets done. If you actually like group work, stop reading this right now (not only because I plan to systematically dismantle group work and show how it does more harm than good, but also because you're likely one of the people that makes it so horrible for the rest of us). You arrive at the library. The time is 4:45 PM, giving you plenty of time to find a table, set up your work station and, if you're diligent, get a cup of coffee. Having accomplished two of your three goals with about eight minutes to spare, you indulge in a hot beverage and settle in, ready for the most grueling task your class can throw your way.

At 5:10 PM, you begin to feel a bit antsy. The agreed meeting time was 5:00 sharp, wasn't it? Your restlessness evolves into slight annoyance at the fact that you alone were able to get to the library on time when nobody mentioned anything that would inhibit them from doing the same. By 5:20, you are no longer annoyed; you're just plain angry. You notice (after a minute or two of rage-fueled inner monologue) that you've received a text from one of your group members, which reads, “Hey, sorry, I fell asleep, be there in 5. Anyone else there yet?” How does this person expect you to react to such a message? Dumbfounded, you manage to reply, “Nope, just me,” which, you feel, is just passive-aggressive enough to make them realize that you're not a happy camper.

At 5:27, you receive a message, which reads, “Haha. Cool. Leaving now.” There are few words worthy of describing your degree of lividity in this moment; perhaps “awesome” will suffice, since you are now visibly enraged and the people at neighboring tables don't know how to react, so they sit there and stare as if in awe. You clench your hand as tight as humanly possible, crushing your coffee cup into a tiny ball as if it were made of aluminum foil. The caffeine from your double shot of espresso squeezes blood through your veins at five hundred miles an hour, feeding your fury in a way not dissimilar to how jet fuel propels a fighter plane. A steady eye, if only for brief instances, can spot tufts of what looks like steam languidly creeping out of your ears. This “steam” is actually pure, condensed rage that was simply forced out of your body, which is long past capacity at this point.

An eternity passes. You fester in your seat, your head drooping over your notebook. Your grip on your pen suggests that it owes you money and it's time to pay up. At 5:43, you get a phone call from another group member, who says, “Hey, oh my God! I had this last minute Kappa Kappa Derp meeting and the girls wanted to get some Panera afterwards. I didn't even notice the time! How much have you guys gotten done? Oh, really? Oh, I'm sorry! I'll be there in a few minutes!” As you hang up, you glance across the table and acknowledge the existence of the first idiot, who says, “Hey bro, what's up? Where's that other chick?” With most of your mind shredded to pieces, the primal urge to limit sensory input fixes your eyes on the seemingly random button-pressing by Brick (this seems like a fair name) while he continually expresses his opinion, which can be reduced to this: “Thinking is hard. This is gonna be a bitch, man. I'm glad you know what's going on, herp derp.”

TO BE CONTINUED!