The key to surviving a class where you don't know diddly squat and the teacher's insistent on class participation is to blend in. In fact, to disappear entirely would be an even better idea. To usher in the new generation of slackers, I pass on my wisdom from my many sessions of classes I don't know anything about, such as physics and maths.

Middle Ground. Sitting in the absolute rear of the class when you don't want to be called upon for anything is such a rookie mistake! Then there are the geniuses who try to fake out the teacher by sitting right up front. She will never call on me to solve a question on the board, they think, by sitting this close up, I have established that I am not trying to hide and hence have nothing to fear. Leave the reverse psychology to the masters, buddy. The simplest route is often the best one: the middle! If you're particularly lucky, you'll have someone taller than you sitting right in front of you, but not totally obscuring you from sight. That way, with only your shoulder visible, and maybe an ear, the teacher-alarm reserved for students trying to hide is not sounded while obscuring your face just enough to make you entirely unmemorable.

The old Duck and Frown. There comes a time in every class when a question comes up that is damn near impossible for you to even bother comprehending, much less know the answer to. It is the law of the universe that if such a question can ever come up, it will rear its ugly head when you are present in the class to start panicking about the teacher asking you to get up and answer it. In a regular class, say economics or multimedia systems, sixty percent of all answers are bull or flukes and an average student can field them off easily or at least stall and look pensive while he waits for the class know-it-all's head to explode because the teacher's ignoring his/her hand held high to the heavens since the question was first asked. These subjects, however, leave room for some fast thinking and improvisation. When it comes to mathematics, a fluke will get you absolutely nowhere, and make you look like an ass in front of all your friends in the bargain. This is why you want to, at all costs, steer well clear of being called upon when a question arises in math class. That's where a little maneuvre I like to call the old Duck and Frown comes in.

Picture this: the teacher's just fired off a question, probably wrote it on the board, and is now scanning the rows with those laser-concentration eyes of hers to find the student that looks like he/she has no idea what's going on. It is your job to survive this scenario while some other poor sap gets called on to come up to the board and make a royal ass of himself. The way to go about doing this is something I've been working on for a few semesters now and it goes a little something like this: look up at the question on the board. Pick up a pencil and chew gently on the end and frown slightly at the offending equation. A slight squinting session would not be amiss either. Do not flinch as the lasers come close to you, rest ever so slightly on you and then pass you over. You're not out of the woods yet, but you're close. The second time the evil eyes are coming around, frown a little more, but this time, look down at your notebook as you do it. At a deliberate pace, follow this up by ducking slightly over your notebook, just enough to give the impression of being hunched over the page in concentration. If you're feeling bold enough, look up a second and frown one more time at the board, then back down to duck position. Stay in the hunched position until someone else has been called upon and you're safe, and even then, resume your usual seating position slowly and fluidly.

Roll Call. And finally, the roll call and with it, the age old question: what attracts less attention, a simple 'here' or 'present'? Here's where it comes down to personal preference. Around here, the mass majority go for the 'present!' response, so by sheer numbers, you're indistinguishable from the pack if you decide to go with it. I will tell you, though, that the wrong response is "Yes, Sir!". Especially when the teacher's a woman.