Fact or Fiction: 20-Minute Homework

Every Stuyvesant student is intimately familiar with a teacher shouting homework requirements in the last 15 seconds of class. Even more so, they are familiar with a saying that usually accompanies these instructions that teachers (incorrectly) believe is comforting: “Don’t worry, this should only take twenty minutes!” 

Of course, these words are never accurate. What should be quicker than the average Young Sheldon episode ends up consuming the following afternoon, evening, morning, and panicked passing periods right before class. In order to fully understand this discrepancy, we at The Spectator have decided to conduct a study to observe the average Stuy student attempting to complete the notorious “20-minute homework.” 

The experiment begins promisingly: the student arrives home, greets their parental figures, and answers meaningless questions about their day, such as “How was school?” (fine), “What did you learn?” (things), and “Did you remember to eat lunch?” (iced coffee counts as a meal, right?). Then, they confidently open their laptop and switch to Google Classroom (a tab that’s been open since 1984) before scrambling to create a Google Doc. They then return to Google Classroom in order to reread the assignment, as they have already forgotten the instructions. This haphazard switching between tabs continues for the next 10 minutes, as if the answers might magically appear when they look away. The homework is untouched, but the research environment is thriving.

At this point, post-school fatigue hits with a vengeance; the student’s stomach rumbles aggressively. Not even the most studious person can work in these conditions. Thus, they must appease the Gluttonous Tyrant (a.k.a. their stomach) with sufficient sacrifice in order to resume productivity. The student moves to their kitchen, locates a bag of half-eaten Takis to offer as tribute, and then becomes distracted by an incessant buzzing from their phone. They pick it up, scroll through their notifications, and decide to respond later—TikTok is waiting. After 15 minutes of munching while staring at the screen with glazed eyes, the assignment tragically remains unstarted, but at least their stomach is temporarily sated.

They reopen their document and type out the beginning of the very question the assignment asked them to answer, before promptly switching back to the instructions, as, naturally, they have not yet processed a single word of the requirements.

Now, their tongue is starting to tingle from those Takis. Water, of course, will fix this. But, of course, not a single drop of water is available in the numerous cups and bottles littering the nuclear hazard known as their room. With a sigh, the student gets back up to go to the kitchen. Three glasses later, they now feel the need to go to the bathroom, along with increasing guilt over the uncompleted assignment, which was “started” over an hour ago.

While they relieve their bladder, the student gets a sudden desire to rebuild the library of Alexandria, cure cancer, and clean their room. None of these unfeasible ambitions are acted upon. Though, in fairness, at least the first two exist in the realm of possibility. Instead, the aspirations are cast aside for the most academically dangerous action possible: lying on their bed for “just five minutes.” All our readers should know that this phenomenon, like 20-minute homework, rarely takes the amount of time it supposedly should.

The student wakes up five hours later, disoriented and somehow more tired than when they went to sleep. The laptop screen still casts an accusing glow onto their face. The sun has noticeably moved closer to the horizon. Finally, fueled by desperation, the student reads the assignment with the focus of someone who’s bargaining with fate. Their brain begins processing words with more and more horror. What was described as a short response requires two pages of supporting arguments, textual evidence, and a mysterious citation format (What even is GPT-style?!) that was allegedly explained in class, probably during the nanosecond they were distracted.

This discovery marks the start of a mental breakdown. Unfortunately, due to the ominous “due by 11:59 p.m.” flashing in the corner of the screen, the student does not have time to prioritize their mental health. Adrenaline kicks in. With shaky hands typing at the speed of light, the student somehow submits the assignment (essay? fanfic? cry for help?) at 11:58 p.m.

The student kicks back in relief and wipes away tears with a crumpled two-week-old test they failed. Then, they remember they do indeed take six other classes. With a fresh wave of tears, the student checks the to-do list on Google Classroom: math, physics, AP US History, and computer science.

All have posted homework. 

All are due tomorrow.  

As our study has demonstrated, “20-minute homework” is less of a task and more of a psychological experiment, one in which a student displays an impressive ability to do anything but what they should. Further research is required to concretely prove any findings, but early results suggest a correlation: the more urgent the task, the more compelling the alternatives.