School’s back in, and we’re all getting ready to be shown how stupid we are in terms of numbers between zero and 100. Unfortunately, we also have to face a few other numbers: the red ones in our bank statements after the bookstore refuses to accept our souls for books.
A few months, hundreds of gallons of coffee and several mental breakdowns later, we’re left with these large clumps of paper that no longer do anything but remind us how much better we should have done in our courses.
Where do I get off calling them useless?
Last night, I was flipping through my $100 unit operations textbook, and I noticed entire chapters matched up with those in my similarly-priced fluid mechanics book from last year.
I would have grabbed that text to double-check, but guess what? I don’t have it anymore, because everything I needed to know from it is obtainable online or in my current textbooks.
But, you may ask, can’t I still sell my books when I’m done with them?
Let’s do a quick case study:
Last semester, I bought a textbook for heat and mass transfer off Amazon for $68.32, which was actually a pretty darn good deal. But I just checked its current value on Chegg, and I got a quote to sell it back for $14.78.
Also noteworthy: It now costs $64.49 to buy a used copy of the book from Chegg and $194.99 for a new one.
Now, I know that’s a bit short of absolutely terrible, but it’s still pretty bad. The return on that book wouldn’t cover an appreciable fraction of the medical bill I’ll have to pay to cover the heart attack I’ll have after seeing my final grades in a few months.
But fear not, friends. I have a plan.
First, we need to make it through the semester. Milk those books for what they’re worth, not for what they’ll be worth at the end of the courses.
Second, we need to designate a meeting time and place after the end of the semester  — somewhere with a flame-resistant floor.
Once the fall semester ends, figure out which of your books have any remaining value. Keep those. Throw the rest in a duffle bag and head over to our predetermined spot for the party.
What will we actually be doing?
We’ll have booths set up, organized alphabetically by major: A-H, I-P and Q-Z, or something like that. Get in line and we’ll collect your unwanted books. Then we can get started.
Trumpets will bellow some popular, upbeat tune for a few minutes to set the mood (anyone from Tiger Band reading?), and then I’ll jump out with a microphone shouting, “Let there be light!”
Someone will pull up a curtain, revealing a pile of all our ex-books, covered in what everyone will shortly thereafter realize is gasoline — and we’ll just burn them.
Very symbolic, huh?
We can have tons of barbecued food, bands playing live music and even some of those awesome inflatable slides for those of us who never quite grew up. There will be stands giving temporary tattoos of the ISBNs of our flaming books and we’ll gather in circles to chant our favorite lines and equations from them.
If the stars are really aligning in our favor, the publishing gods might see our fire from above. Please have mercy on us.
Sounds like a phenomenal time, right?
I’m now accepting donations in the forms of textbook receipts with annotations listing what you would have done with the money otherwise. If you see me on campus, just crumple them up and throw them at me. I’ll really appreciate it.
So if you’re part of the leagues of students currently crying over spilled textbook money, please consider joining us for the celebration. You’re one of us.
Ryan Monk is a 21-year-old chemical engineering senior from Lake Charles, Louisiana. You can reach him on Twitter @RyanMonkTDR.