Public Speaking in the Age of Zoom: Teamwork, Tech, and Mrs. Sinkoff’s Sanity

Let’s just say it: teaching a public speaking class on Zoom is either an act of profound courage or quiet madness. Maybe both. Either way, Mrs. Sinkoff—our fearless, click-happy guide through the chaos—deserves a standing ovation, or at least a Starbucks gift card and a neck massage. Because corralling twenty-plus students into four teams, timing them, muting them, unmuting them, and giving meaningful feedback while the internet gods play dice with connection quality? That’s some Cirque du Soleil-level balancing.

So here we are. We survived our first full round of team presentations, and I’d be lying if I said it was easy. Sitting through four back-to-back presentations in a single 3-hour-and-20-minute Zoom session is not for the faint of heart. It’s a test of stamina, focus, and the strength of one’s desk chair. Somewhere around hour two, your back starts whispering threats. Your eyeballs glaze. Your coffee gives up. And still—somehow—you press on, because that’s what public speakers do. You show up. You stand (or sit) tall. You deliver.

The presentations were about our class book: Public Speaking: The Evolving Art (5th ed.) by Coopman and Lull, a book that sounds innocent enough until you realize it’s trying to rewire your entire communication system, but in the best way possible. This isn’t just a how-to guide for delivering speeches; it’s a manifesto for becoming a better, clearer, more intentional human being.

We covered it all: from building confidence so you don’t melt into a puddle of self-doubt mid-sentence, to listening actively—which, let’s be honest, is a rare skill when half your brain is whispering “what do I say next?” There were chapters on choosing your topic, knowing your audience, supporting your ideas with actual facts (what a concept!), and even how to start and end strong—because nobody wants a speech that opens timidly and ends like a car running out of gas.

And then came the really juicy stuff: language (words matter, who knew?), media (slides can kill or cure), and delivery—which includes things like eye contact, voice control, and resisting the urge to say “um” like it’s a comma (This is a hard one for many). The book gave us a complete toolkit for being compelling, coherent, and human, whether you’re on stage in front of 500 people or presenting to three coworkers and a cat on Zoom.

And that’s the thing—this applies directly to our lives now. We live in Zoomland. We’re perpetually framed in 16:9, one awkward angle away from a meme. Online meetings have become the default in school, work, therapy, and even first dates (bless the brave souls trying to flirt over frozen video and echoing Wi-Fi). So, learning how to show up confidently, speak clearly, and not bore the ever-loving soul out of your audience? That’s a power skill. This class isn’t just preparing us for speeches—it’s preparing us for life.

Now, let’s talk about Team 4, my team, the grand finale.

We presented Part 4 of the book, a mash of real-world application chapters that felt like the boss level of a video game. Georgette and I opened with Informative Speaking, which is all about making your audience smarter without making them want to eat their keyboards. We kept it clear, relevant, and—dare I say—entertaining. Then Georgette tag-teamed with Rene for Persuasive Speaking, where the goal is to change minds without coming off like a pushy infomercial. They did it with style.

Samentha tackled Understanding Argument, which was not, unfortunately, about how to win a Twitter fight, but rather how to construct logic-based claims like an actual grown-up. Yusnaby took that even further with a deep dive into Distance Speaking and Media Appearances, which felt hilariously meta given we were all sitting in little square boxes onscreen. She nailed it. Then Ruth wrapped it all up with Special Occasions and Group Presentations, the art of knowing when to say something meaningful and not just ramble nervously through a toast like you're being held hostage by a microphone.

I was the team leader, which meant I got to play coach, scheduler & panic diffuser. But my team made it easy. Everyone came through, despite tech issues, conflicting schedules, and the existential horror of presenting in front of a grid of mute-buttoned classmates and a professor taking notes from the other side of town. We pulled it off—and I’m proud.

Now, was it all perfect? No. Was there some chaos? Naturally. Did someone freeze mid-sentence while presenting a key point and leave us all staring at their pixelated grimace for ten seconds? You bet. But that’s the beauty of it. Public speaking takes work, and Zoom is very messy. I’m not entirely sure how many students tuned in mentally to what we were saying, and I can’t say that I blame them, being at the end of a very long class and all. But we said it anyway, and we sure learned from it. 

I want to give a major shoutout to Mrs. Sinkoff, who has somehow kept this circus running with grace, humor, and a clear mastery of her craft. She’s patient, thoughtful, and actually listens—which, ironically, might be the rarest form of communication in the Zoom age. Her feedback is honest and useful, and her commitment to helping each of us grow is obvious. She’s not just teaching us to speak—she’s teaching us to care about how we’re heard.

In the end, this class is about more than public speaking. It’s about clarity, presence, and the ability to connect with people—even if those people are muted, half-distracted, and possibly in pajama pants. It’s about learning how to say something real in a world full of noise.

And for that, I’m grateful. Even if my back may never recover.

Raul Rodriguez