(I work the main desk in a small college library. It is the beginning of our spring semester, meaning most new students have at least a semester under their belt. A patron is standing by the copy machine with a wad of papers.)

Patron: “Can I scan this?”

Me: “Do you want to scan it or photocopy?”

Patron: “Scan.”

Me: “Okay. Our scanner’s right here. Here’s the program. It’ll take a second to warm up, and then you’re good to go.”

Patron: “And once it’s scanned in, I can print it. Right?”

Me: “Uh, if you’re just going to print it it’s probably faster just to photocopy it.”

Patron: “Oh. Okay.”

(The patron proceeded to have no idea how to operate the copier. I can’t wait until they graduate and teach a classroom of kids!)

(It is the first day in a freshman physics class. Our instructor is Japanese, with a fairly thick accent. Note that the school is in the middle of Texas.)

Instructor: “Welcome, class. My name is [Name].”

(He writes it on the board.)

Instructor: “Or, more simply.”

(He writes his name in Japanese.)

(In senior year art class there is one girl who always complains about whatever project we are doing. After she makes several insulting comments and challenges him, the teacher decides he’s had enough.)

Teacher: “[Girl], I’d be more than happy to get into a battle of wits with you but I won’t fight someone who’s unarmed.”

(The girl scoffs at the comment and doesn’t speak for several more minutes.)

Girl: “Wait. What did he say?”

Me: “[Girl], do you really want to know?”

Girl: “Yes. I want to know!”

Me: “Okay. He said he’d be more than happy to get into a battle of wits with you but he won’t fight someone who’s unarmed.”

Girl: “Oh, okay.”

(She then leans over to her friend sitting next to her asking what it means. A minute or two later she suddenly understands.)

Girl: “Wait! [Teacher], that was mean!”

(We’re in chemistry class, which is currently very boring. Everyone is too bored to make trouble or do anything fun. The teacher’s monotonous voice drones on.)

Teacher: “…and here you see that the symbol equation for—”

(Suddenly, the glorious sound of the fire bell rings. A classmate jumps out of his seat, and punches the air with a gleaming grin on his face.)

Classmate: “YES! YES! YEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSS!”

(The fire bell stops. It was a false alarm. The classmate’s face falls. He drops to his knees and throws his hands in the air with his head to the sky.)

Classmate: “NOOOOOOOO! WHYYYYYYYY?!”

(I’m walking around campus during alumni weekend, where some of my college’s older graduates (class of 1950) are revisiting. They are having a hard time adjusting to the changes.)

Older Woman: “Is this still [Dormitory Name]?”

Me: “Yes. Turns out it has never been changed!”

Older Man: “We used to try and sneak over here at night, but that was when it was just women’s housing.”

Older Woman: “Is it men’s or women’s housing now?”

Me: “It’s co-ed, as in both genders. It’s actually an all-freshmen dormitory now.”

Older Woman: “Men and women? So… like married housing?”

Me: “No.”

Older Man: “Well, what’s to prevent the men and women from going into each other’s dorms?”

Me: “Their mommy and daddy’s good teachings, I suppose. We trust our students here to make their own decisions.”

Older Man: “I can’t imagine how many pregnant women you all have here. D*** heathens!”