Dr. Mojo and the Assessment Enforcers

It is a truth universally acknowledged that a college professor in possession of a large chunk of free time must be in want of assessment.

I haven't written my assessment report for the fall semester. The data sit on my desk like a pile of radioactive waste, daily emitting rays of doom; the numbers demand to be aggregated into an Excel spreadsheet and analyzed to within an inch of their lives, but I'm having motivation problems.

If I just ignore the pile, what's the worst that could happen? I suppose I could receive a visit from the Assessment Committee, AKA Dr. Mojo and the Assessment Enforcers, who might expose me to various cruel and unusual methods of torture: they could beat me silly with their pocket protectors, for instance, or assault me repeatedly with committee-constructed institutional prose. I picture Dr. Mojo standing in the corner, arms folded, steely eyes glaring, as the Assessment Enforcers circle round my chair spitting out phrases like "measurable outcomes," "general education cognate areas," and "quality assessment activities." I might be able to resist all that, but if they start browbeating me about the need "to infuse the principles and benefits of continuous improvement into the culture of the college," I'll wilt like a sprig of watercress at a hot spring.

The right way to avoid this scenario is to write the report, but my desperate mind keeps casting about for another way of escape. What I need is for a friendly dog to wander into my office and eat all those tasty data. They're not very nourishing, but dogs will eat anything--which is probably the only characteristic they share with Assessment Committees.