In the spirit of finals season — and former Vision Graphics Editor Addie White — we pay homage to all kinds of test takers: the chewers, the bluffers, the nappers, the crunchers, the dreaded curve breaker and the crier (we may all be a crier). 

Read on and discover what kind of test taker you are and The Vision Editorial Board’s overall, completely objective assessment of your character.

Pencil chewer 

The firm compression of the eraser on your large molars; the sharp, metallic, heady taste of the graphite; the flimsy crack of the No. 2 wood — hmm, what’s that sound you hear? 

THERE’S A TEST GOING ON RIGHT NOW. YUCK, IS THAT YOUR PENCIL??? EWWWWWW!!! 

Look, no one is stopping you, but no one is sitting next to you either — all those wooden shards and spittle make it hard to concentrate. You are a nervous wreck, and you enact your shaking hands to one task: slowly demolishing every object in your vicinity. You probably have nonexistent cuticles from a consistent, never-ending intake of keratin calories. 

Oh, and Instagram Reels? We know it consumes you, sapping every ounce of brain juice into a rotten pulp. Overall? You’re doomed. 

Bluffer

You stand in the hall with nothing but false confidence. You’ve convinced yourself — and everyone around you — you will pass this exam. Your peers grow tired of hearing the cocky remarks you manage to keep producing. We are all absolutely sure you know what’s going on, just as you’ve said many times. 

The truth is, you didn’t study once — not even a quick glance at notes. In reality, you don’t even know what class this is and haven’t been listening since September. Your teacher hands you the exam, and you realize you’re done for. But you can’t let anyone else catch on to your bluff. C’mon, you’ve got to remember at least something from those droning lectures. 

Coming up blank, you mark random answers and leave 20 minutes after the exam starts. You figure everyone will see you as a super genius for finishing so quickly. Long story short: Bluffers gain nothing but a degree in gaslighting. 

Bathroom escape artist

As the clock ticks away in the exam room and the scent of desperation and body odor permeates the air, you rise from your seat, ready to disappear into the unknown realm of the restroom. Your timing is impeccable, as if guided by an unseen force sensing the exact moment when your test proctor’s attention is diverted to a distant daydream of happy hour.

Whether your pilgrimage is truly driven by a biological call of nature after drinking that 20-ounce Red Bull or not is questionable. However, your proctor’s annoyed harumph and your classmates’ jealous glares do nothing to deter you from waltzing out the door and into the bathroom.

Newsflash: You can’t google an entire semester’s worth of physics answers in the five minutes it’s socially acceptable for you to remain in here. However, this fact does not faze you. You lock yourself in a stall to get on your knees and pray to the all-knowing physics deity (and your only hope of passing the exam): Chegg.

Wait, who’s walking through the door? Ms. Heintz was beginning to get worried about the amount of time you’ve been away and is coming to see if you’re vaping or vomiting — or both. 

You hear her footsteps thud ominously across the green-tiled floor and stop right in front of you. She bangs on the door, and you feel the entire stall shake as if it’s about to collapse and reveal the sinning taking place within. Blood rushes your head and your vision blurs as you frantically scramble to hide your precious cell phone from her moral judgment. In the chaos, you lose your grip on it over the porcelain bowl.

Splash. There goes your Hail Mary.

Negotiator

Your ol’ granddad told you once that everything in life was negotiable, so here you are, facing off with your calculus teacher in the middle of the dead-silent exam room.

“Can you show me how to put this in my calculator?”

“I don’t know if the answer is 37 or that the horse’s name was Friday.”

“Do you think you could write the formulas on the board? You know, in case someone else might need them.”

The teacher insistently tells you she can’t help during the exam and turns to walk away. You side-step in front of her, exam sheet shaking in your hands. 

You don’t understand. This worked every time before. Everyone knows if you annoy the teacher with enough questions, they’ll just tell you the answers. What are you supposed to do if you can’t just talk your way out of everything?

STUDY????

You remember your ol’ granddad at the farmer’s market. He never gave up haggling even the smallest amount of pocket change from small family businesses struggling to make a living. You clench your fist in determination. 

“Mrs. A… Are you AP curving this test?”

Crier

You have a test this week. OK, maybe a little more than that: three tests, two quizzes and a paper. But it’s OK. You’ve made it to the last test of the week, and it’s seventh period — just 55 minutes and a couple of multiple-choice questions standing between you and the weekend. You’ve spent half the week studying for this test. You can do it, even if you’re a little overwhelmed.

OK, so the freakout session last block shows you’re more than a little overwhelmed, but wipe off those tears, grab your bag and go rock this.

Walk in the door, sit down, start your music, everything is going good so far. You get the test, turn to the first page and …

Wait.

This is not what you studied. You assumed this little part of the giant chapter you covered wouldn’t make a difference, so you prioritized. As you frantically flip through the test, you realize not only did missing it make a difference, but it affects almost every other question on the test. Try to calm down and think about how you can make this work. Context clues, right? 

Nope. We can see it on your face as the thoughts start racing through your head, your leg starts shaking and your breathing starts to deepen. The pencil drops to the desk as your head falls in your hands and it begins: loud and intrusive sobbing.

You don’t even bother picking your head up as every student in the room turns their eyes to you. Some are sympathetic and knowing, with most rolling so far back into their heads, their eyes may start watering, too. They dismiss you as they try to focus on their own struggles, writing you off as nothing but dramatic.

While this scene may be one for the dramatics, it’s OK. I see you, I understand you, and I’m crying, too. 

Napper 

You’re the student who transforms the classroom into a cozy sleep sanctuary in the blink of an eye — props to you! You have truly mastered the art of tranquility while the world around you implodes into academic chaos. Like a lullaby, your presence puts everyone at ease. Teachers may raise an eyebrow at your impeccable skill of dozing off mid-exam, but you’re on a mission to prove sleeping is an essential part of the learning process. While others drown in caffeine, you easily nod off in a dream cloud, embracing the timeless tradition of power naps.

But wait, there’s more to your useful talent! You’re not just a master napper; you’re a feline-inspired genius, blending the finesse and precision of a catnap with your somewhat detrimental ability to not read the room. As if that’s not enough, everyone envies your ability to go about life without a care in the world. While they’re frantically stressing over every detail, you navigate the academic landscape with a carefree attitude that’s downright enviable. Who knew the path to academic glory involved embracing your inner cat instead of sipping on coffee like it’s an elixir of knowledge?

Rumor has it you’ve even shared sweet nothings about the exam with your sleep-deprived comrades, likely omitting you forgot to put your name on the paper. Forget studying; you’re the stay-up-all-night binge-watching a TV series and fail-to-ace-the-test kind of scholar. Do you soothe yourself to sleep with the sweet, sweet symphony of failing grades? Asking for a friend.

Yapper/Whisperer

You may be wondering, how can there be a yapper on a silent exam? If you’re not wondering, then you’re probably too busy yapping. We understand you studied for 30 minutes, and we understand this question has a typo — we know. 

Do you feel comforted by your own voice? Does your studying set consist of a long speech from your notes? We’re sure you’ll give us the answers to these questions quickly and loudly. 

And if that yapping gets too loud, then the whispers will soon follow. Your unique studying methods must require some verbal confirmation of what letter you’re reading.

The answer is B — make sure you announce that to the class.

Cruncher

We all know who you are: the person who pulls out their phone or their binder in the hallway five minutes before the exam because you think those few minutes will increase your score by a letter grade. Your friends will admonish you to stop hunching over your phone to zoom in on your Microsoft document’s 4-point font, or they’ll experience sheer second-hand embarrassment as you frantically flip through your pages of haphazard handwritten notes (if they’re not trying to decipher your handwriting themselves). You’re probably only leaning into your cruncher tendencies due to Mr. Yarborough’s U.S. History test or Dr. Morgan’s AP Chemistry test. 

You’re a procrastinator at heart, and this probably isn’t the first time your skills have been challenged to the point where you began questioning your abilities. The hard truth: Nothing you do in those last few minutes will change your fate unless you actually remember one key formula or seven critical historical facts, and in the case of Mr. Yarborough and Dr. Morgan’s tests, those probably won’t even come in handy. 

Though you might be a driven, obstinate and confident optimist, you’ll benefit from surrounding yourself with more realists as friends. Pick yourself up off the ground, stop trying to absorb the semester’s knowledge through pure osmosis and tackle your exams like an actual brave soul rather than a meek cruncher.

Curve breaker

Congratulations! You studied! (And made everyone else feel bad about themselves in the process.)

Oh, we all know the kind of person you are: hard-working, over-achieving and probably a volunteer at some humanitarian soup kitchen or animal shelter. Well, you little goody two shoes, do you know what would be even more humanitarian? Helping your poor,  over-exhausted classmates best their tests.

You disgust me, but congratulations for knowing a lot about genetics, Darwinism and animal reproduction or whatever (which, by the way, maybe try picking up knitting, BOZO).

Did you even need that 100? We bet you already have a full ride to Good College University and–

What did you say?

Dr. Janovetz doesn’t curve his exams?

Oh.

Oops.

Sorry. I’ll buy you new tires.