Disclaimer (for legal reasons, and for those of you who can’t understand that this article is satire): this article is a joke. 

What is homeroom? Freshmen have asked this question since the dawn of time. Is there a class for it? A teacher? What am I possibly supposed to do with twenty minutes of nothingness? It’s not enough time to grab a snack and do homework, and too much time for a short bathroom break. Am I really going to have to be forced to make small talk with PEOPLE? Don’t worry, little freshie; I’ve got your back. 

As an all-knowing Junior (no offense Seniors), it is safe to say that I know the layout of the land by now. In the wild west, known as high school, there are tips and tricks that need to be picked up. Which lunchline to get on( the second one), where to sit in class, and when/ when not to use the elevator. For all the poor students who have math or gym in the basement, followed by a seventh-floor class, I am with you in your prayers. “The human condition is a difficult one,” attests Rabbi Stern, who teaches his Honors 11th grade math class first period three days a week in the basement. “You have to see how those students run when the bell rings. In my 30+ years of teaching, I have realized that there are two types of kids. Those who wait for the elevator that will never come, and the rest who have realized how futile the aforementioned choice is. It’s really a game of perspective.” Very philosophical for a math teacher who assigns his students book reports. 

When asked for a comment, Julius Zimbler ’24 said that in addition to the race against the stairs, the class is incredibly cutthroat; it is even a struggle to get a homework answer up on the board. “All I want is a check in Rabbi Stern’s glorious book. Kids will get to class twenty minutes early, even in the heart of davening, to write up a homework answer. They have even erased my name and put their own! Who knew pre-calc was so ruthless!” It is reported that freshmen and sophomores have walked past the class bewildered by the loud shouts of “I’m taking Problem 31” and “You were in the book yesterday, not fair!” and wondered if students could possibly grow younger. In the wild west, who knows what can happen? 

It is rumored that long ago, the school administrator gods decided to make a period squeezed right into the quarter of the day. A logical question is why? Many believe that there was once a classroom, known as a homeroom, where students would go. In this forgotten room of brick and stone, a teacher known as a homeroom instructor would take attendance and make announcements. The gods decided to keep it in our schedules as a homage to this long-forgotten world before cell phones. 

So back to surviving homeroom, what is there to do? Your best bet is to lose something, such as headphones, an iPad, your binder full of end-of-semester notes (eh hem, me), and spend the time looking for it. As long as you have a vague notion of where you left the object “around the third floor” and an army of friends to help, the activity is almost like a more anxiety-filled scavenger hunt than a forbearer of an existential crisis. I believe in you. And if that goes south, you can always “forget” to do a homework assignment or consult a teacher about something in class you still can’t wrap your head around. As Ramaz students, we are programmed to never take a break. When the college office says jump, we say how high. It’s what makes our school the best in the yeshiva league. But sometimes, a twenty-minute break is needed. It may not cure your sleep deprivation, but it is the perfect amount of time for a nap.