The debate about generative AI in the education sphere is overdone. I don’t care about it. I don’t care if my students use it because it is relatively easy to sniff out. In many respects, I don’t even want to write this article because I am so tired of the topic popping up in professor forums and the Chronicles of Higher Education. Thankfully (not really), other topics dominate those spaces at the moment the nervous flocks can get worked up over. However, what occurred in our last faculty meeting (I swear this event is the breeding ground for the dumbest things), had me choking on irony so hard that I am worried I might soon show signs of gout.

Our director of First Year Experience is a bit of an alarmist. Seemingly, at every opportunity, they will blow things out of proportion. Hearing them make mountains out of molehills became so common that I dubbed them Professor Hyperbole whenever I reference them in conversation. Nothing is safe. Nothing is sacred. The world is going to Hell in a handbasket if you allow Hyperbole’s thoughts to creep into your head. They were the biggest reason I did not continue in the faculty senate. I can only handle so much pearl-clutching before I want to gag.

More than a year ago, one of our English professors noted in a faculty meeting that ten percent of their recent crop of essays were AI-generated. All this faculty member was trying to do was acknowledge that this new platform of academic dishonesty was making its way into our classrooms. It was a sensible call for awareness, nothing more. However, Hyperbole blew the English professor’s warning out of the water, over the fence, and into a ravine of despair. Not to be outdone, Hyperbole claimed that every student was cheating with this “new AI thing.” This proclamation preceded a bemoaning of how education was circling the drain and that there was nothing we could do about it.

Before anybody gets themselves wound up into a tizzy, let me illustrate my sensible game plan for detecting AI in my student’s papers. It is a two-step process that is easy to follow, and I will gladly share it with all of you. First, I read the paper while looking for advanced grammatical techniques. I always tell my students that if I see a semicolon, they are automatically suspect because I am a published researcher. I barely know how to use the blasted things. It is a big tipoff. Second, I talk to my students, and not just in the classroom. Being around my students gives me insight into how they might write, as most people write on the same level they speak. Sure, somebody might be able to organize their thoughts better when they write. Still, verbiage won’t delineate too far from where you typically hear them. If I want to confirm my suspicions, I just ask students to come to my office and ask a couple of questions about the paper. Nothing too complicated; typically, I ask questions about the theme of the paper, and they eventually crack.

Fast forward to the present day. Hyperbole is in front of the entire faculty about to present proposed changes to the First Year Experience curriculum. Right off the bat, they praise how Gamma AI (a presentation generator) created their presentation, complete with graphics. Throughout the entire discussion, Hyperbole can’t quit singing Gamma’s praises. I am sitting in the back row of the auditorium with my brain running the “every student is cheating” line on a loop. Even when Hyperbole finished their presentation, they thanked Gamma again.

I don’t participate in the consumption of controlled substances, but this is the kind of thing that makes me rethink my life choices. About a year ago, AI was a tool of the devil in your mind. Now, it is your personal Jesus, saving you from thinking about how to build a presentation. The only thing worse than flip-flopping like this is if they become a new convert. They are the most annoying because they can’t shut up about how their lives have changed since they found Gamma.