I earned about 60 college credits that I’ll never be able to claim.
Most of the full courses I handled were business or marketing ones; science students tend to want to do their own work.
I found one professor so adversarial that I tracked down her Twitter account and posed as a right-wing loon just to hector her sputtered opinions.
On various occasions, I knew when I was almost certainly interacting with another paper-mill hack on a discussion board; 19-year-olds from Turkey don’t typically wax nostalgic about the . These students were often so disengaged from the process, often off partying somewhere, that as long as they were making progress toward a degree, they simply didn’t care. Sometimes my religious and other convictions collided with those of my clients.
For a psych class, I used an actual account of watching someone smoke pot that so horrified the student he was apparently ready to return to Kuwait.) * * * Realistically, this could all be squashed.
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Colleges offering online courses could make some basic technical adjustments to preclude most of this cheating if they cared to do so.
His side of the conversation was notable for how painfully little English he knew despite having ostensibly completed a three-page assignment in that language.
From 1,500 miles away, I set to work on a second draft using this new information. Within an hour or two, I had e-mailed the new draft—stripped of Microsoft Word metadata to conceal the identity of the document’s real creator—to my supervisor, who reviewed and approved it before dispatching it back to the student in New York. But over the past two-plus years, I grew used to submitting writing assignments using a name other than my own.
I was careful to stick to the grading rubric and minimize grammar errors while still writing in a sufficiently unrefined manner to convincingly imitate a Riyadh native who’d come to the U. My work is associated with literally dozens of real names, most of them belonging to people aged 19 to 25 or so, all of them from well-off to extremely wealthy families.
I might be a young man from Tunisia one morning and an aspiring bikini model from Colombia that same afternoon. You can find a number of these online, but not the one I was associated with, which was more a concierge-style operation catering to a niche clientele.