The ethics of doing homework professionally.

26 02 2008

All through my academic life, I was the kid that people couldn’t copy from, couldn’t convince to do their homework, couldn’t do anything but show them how things were supposed to be done. It wasn’t as if I was some paragon of virtue, oh no, I was as bad and delinquent as they came. I was a bad smart kid, a teacher’s nightmare. But I was a smart kid, and my other moral failings led the dumber bad kids into believing that they could benefit from what I had learned while they were off sniffing glue.

 No one seemed to understand why I always denied them permission. It wasn’t that big of a deal, they would tell me. It’s just homework. Indeed, it was just homework, but the mountain of effort it took for me to actually do my homework prevented me from just letting those double-digit-IQ lowbrows copy it. Not only would it have been painfully clear to the teachers, who were never quite as clueless as they let on, it would have made me feel like a lackey, subservient to those kids who probably could have done the work themselves if only they weren’t so god-damned lazy.

 

 Now, in my twenty-third year, I do homework professionally. I actually make money by doing term papers, coursework, dissertations, and even resumes for people I’ll never meet and never know. It doesn’t necessarily cause an ethical conflict in my mind–I do get paid for it, after all–but it raises a few questions of that sort. What can these people expect from life if they pay everyone to do the simplest things for them? Can they ever really manage their own affairs? How much am I contributing to the dumbing down of an already incredibly stupid nation? Do I really have any right to complain about the idiocy and laziness of my fellow citizens if I’m basically their magical crutch?

 

 Those are some tough questions, and I don’t know if I’m ready to answer them. Maybe this doesn’t seem like such a big deal to you people out there reading this right now, but that may be because you haven’t thought it out completely. Think about this: the next job you go to apply for, there’s your prospective employer with his Master’s degree on the wall behind his half-bald head. He asks you what education you’ve had because he’s too fucking lazy to have read your resume. You tell him, perhaps, a Bachelor of Fine Arts, maybe you’re an English nerd like me. He smiles down and says you’re hired, and you think all is well.

 

For the next five years, you spend every day of your life kowtowing to this balding moron simply because he managed a Master’s degree while you worked your way through college. You can’t complain, or even expect to take his job, because he’s better educated than you are. So you sit through hell every day, pounding your head against the desk in frustration at how such a bleating fool could possibly have even graduated college, let alone completed his Master’s.

 

 I am how he did it. Myself and people like me who do every sort of conceivable paper for a nominal fee. Undergrad work, Master’s theses, PhD dissertation papers, fucking medical research papers—we do it all, and we do it at a pretty cheap price. The next time you’re wondering how on Earth a moron like your boss could have achieved so much in the academic world, look no further.

 

It was me.

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