Both said they figured most students would at least give the homework a try.
“I mean, if I needed someone else’s help, I’d expect them to help me,” Boffi said.
Results for the rest of the experiments were quite similar. Seldom was I met with a quizzical stare, and never was I brushed off.
LSA sophomore Kendra Marshall, who had taken the course a year ago, was a bit flustered and it seemed clear she was trying to avoid the responsibility in the politest of ways (“Is this in the book?” she asked).
A table of three sophomore econ majors went to town on the assignment, deliberating over the answers for nearly nine minutes.
“Would it be 70?” LSA sophomore Jennifer Bown asked.
“No, it couldn’t be that,” LSA sophomore Beth Robinson reasoned.
Afterward, they said their memories of the class’s arduousness propelled them to help.
“I’m just kind of like, ‘Oh gosh, 101,’” Robinson said.
Even though Econ 101 has a reputation for fierce competition, all three students I found who are currently taking the class put in earnest attempts to help me.
“I feel like, in general, it’s out of empathy,” Marshall said. “I think people are more willing to help than they seem.”

Both said they figured most students would at least give the homework a try.
“I mean, if I needed someone else’s help, I’d expect them to help me,” Boffi said.
Results for the rest of the experiments were quite similar. Seldom was I met with a quizzical stare, and never was I brushed off.
LSA sophomore Kendra Marshall, who had taken the course a year ago, was a bit flustered and it seemed clear she was trying to avoid the responsibility in the politest of ways (“Is this in the book?” she asked).
A table of three sophomore econ majors went to town on the assignment, deliberating over the answers for nearly nine minutes.
“Would it be 70?” LSA sophomore Jennifer Bown asked.
“No, it couldn’t be that,” LSA sophomore Beth Robinson reasoned.
Afterward, they said their memories of the class’s arduousness propelled them to help.
“I’m just kind of like, ‘Oh gosh, 101,’” Robinson said.
Even though Econ 101 has a reputation for fierce competition, all three students I found who are currently taking the class put in earnest attempts to help me.
“I feel like, in general, it’s out of empathy,” Marshall said. “I think people are more willing to help than they seem.”

“Can I have a bite of your pizza?”

Let’s be honest with each other. The best part about going out may very well be the food gorge that follows.
It is a scientific fact (probably) that drunk people love each other, but I decided to see whether they would love me enough to give me a bite of their pizza.
To see how far students would let another student impose on their late-night feasting, I approached random people at pizza havens New York Pizza Depot and Backroom Pizza and asked to try their slices.
The results weren’t exactly what I expected. A few guys let me dig in, but for the most part, I was utterly rejected.
Two separate times students offered to buy me a slice, but refused to let me even have even “a tiny nibble” of their slice.
Why?
“Because I don’t know who you are,” said the LSA freshman who wouldn’t give me her name and was mindlessly texting as she responded, as if she is often approached by strangers to share in a slice of pizza together. “Because I bought this piece of pizza.”
One girl said “I don’t want your mouth on my food,” and another told me that college students have herpes.
Discouraged that I look like I could be carrying a sexually transmitted disease but determined nonetheless, I kept asking. I transitioned between the joints so patrons wouldn’t catch on.
Finally, on the picnic table outside Backroom, a benevolent soul said, “Go for it.”
I took a bite of a hot slice of cheese. It was delicious. I asked him why he let me try it and if he was creeped out by the situation.
“She doesn’t look like a hobo,” he shrugged to his friend. My confidence swelled.
I continued on my quest, less out of concern for my story and more because the taste of the pizza made me need more. A boy who only would say he was an Engineering senior refused, saying he was “kind of a drunk mess.”
I asked who he might be willing to give a bite to. As he took a large one, he said “absolutely nobody.”
None of the people I approached seemed bothered by my presence, and only one responded that she was “weirded out.” Most just slurred that they were hungry.
I ended up getting two more bites (one girl explained her reasoning as, “because I thought you were a hungry drunk girl that might be an old friend of mine”) and then I called it a night.
In explaining why people would give me a bite at all, Schwarz said “by and large, people share.”
He also said there was an “in-group element,” and people outside of the student-look would be out of luck.
“If I went up to a late night pizza place and asked for a bite of your pizza, you would act much differently,” he said. “And if I was dressed like a bum, there’s no way I’d get a bite of your pizza.”