You know the Asian girl in Pitch Perfect who everyone thinks can’t speak because she whispers all the time, but turns out to be a portable percussion kit in the end?
You know, the one who happens to be the reason why the Pitch Perfect franchise can still argue that they sing acapella, when clearly there is some post-production sound mixing going on in the background?
Take away the beat-boxing and possession by Satan and you get me, sitting in a 50-person class, run like a seminar, participation 25% of the grade, no sections, must speak up, very awkward if no one answers, professor will stare at you, etc., etc., we’ve all been there.
If you have not been there, you are probably the person with the loud voice who fills up every moment of silence, and I both despise and applaud your courage.
There is a host of reasons why encouraging participation in a middle-sized lecture hall might be a problem, but one predominant one is that one can’t quite estimate how large their voice has to be to fill the space. Too loud, and your voice might crack. Too small, and you’re subject to the horrors of “could you speak up, please.”
Picture this:
The person you’re talking to (the professor) is standing 3 inches from you (the speaker) and you’re pretty sure they can hear you at this distance. At the same time, the professor might want to make an example of your (non-Satan possessed) tiny voice so that they don’t have to take up the job of parroting what you said to the rest of the class. So the conversation goes:
“With recent events, do you think we’re moving towards a path of statist positivism in the international community-“
And the professor interjects, mid-highly-interesting-and-relevant-academic-question:
“Could you speak up, please?”
Internally, you’re like:
“You see, professor, I suffered several bouts of pneumonia when I was five and ever since then, I’ve been using it as an excuse for my terrible mile run times AND my inability to speak up on notice. Also now I can’t climb up the three flights of stairs to my dorm room without wheezing when I get to the top, and often have to spend five full seconds breathing heavily while I rummage for my key, so I really can’t believe you’re asking me to speak up right now, when clearly you are standing right there.”
with a sassy voice and finger snaps, but you can’t even speak up in class so let’s leave that to fantasy. So it ends up more like:
“The international sphere–we moving towards it? Away from it? It meaning statist positivis-.”
not quite a full sentence, terribly paced, off pitch. The extra air you used to project your voice makes your sentence cut off mid-positivism. You’re out of breath, heart beating out of control, and now you just want to stop being part of this class discussion. Your thirst for knowledge has been quenched by the fire that burns in your cheeks. The fire’s from embarrassment, or maybe a distinct lack of pepsin. Who knows. It’s a Thursday.
So what else can a girl do but draw a pentagram on the floor and pray that the demon of loud voices can come and possess her for an hour and a half, twice a week, to make her lungs less pathetic?
Satan, you know where to find me.