I’m in college. One of my classmates attracts the teacher’s attention.

Classmate #1: “Sir, could I leave five minutes early today? My bus leaves at [time] and I don’t want to miss it.”

Classmate #2: “There are four buses an hour. Just catch one of the other ones.”

Classmate #1: “Yes, but only that one is run by [Company]. If I catch one of the others, I might run into the driver I accidentally called a fat pie-munching b*****d yesterday.”

Classmate #3: “Oh, so you meant to say, ‘Twenty-five pence, please,’ and you accidentally said, ‘Ah, you fat pie-munching b*****d’?”

Classmate #1: “No, he wouldn’t accept my student ID and said it was fake, and eventually, I said, ‘You fat pie-munching b*****d!’ and stormed off.”

Everyone, including the teacher, simply fell silent and stared.

He didn’t get to leave early.

I’m a high school senior at the time of this story. I’m in my school’s audition-only choir. One morning, I wake up with body aches, a cough, and fever of 104°. The problem with this is that we have our winter concert that evening, and our director is strict about missing performances. You have to bring in a doctor’s note if you miss one; otherwise, he docks your grade.

I set up an appointment with my doctor for later in the morning, call in to school sick, and leave a message on my director’s line. I tell him that I am sick, I’ll be going to the doctor in a couple of hours, and someone in my family will drop a doctor’s note off in the main office since I’m in no shape to come to school or sing that night. Please note that I’ve never missed a performance.

I crawl back into bed until my appointment. I wake up to a voicemail from my director.

Director: “[My Name], this is Mr. [Director]. Tonight is the winter concert, and it’s fifty percent of your semester grade. If you are actually sick, I want that doctor’s note today, hand-delivered by you. Otherwise, you fail for the semester.”

Again, I’ve never missed a performance, and I have been a student leader in my class for a couple of years, so I’m unsure why he’s doubting me. I decide that if he wants a note personally delivered, he’s going to get it.

I go to the doctor, where he diagnoses the flu and writes a note excusing me from “all school events” for the next week. My school is just a few minutes down the road. My timing is perfect; my normal class has just started when I shuffle in. I look just like you’d expect someone with a 104° fever to look.

My classmates stare at me, and our director stops conducting mid-song.

Director: “Uh… [My Name]? You look awful.”

I wave the note in the air.

Me: *At full volume* “I have the flu! Here is your stupid doctor’s note!”

This triggers a coughing spasm. I attempt to hand the note to him while covering my mouth with my other hand. He steps back.

Director: “Ah… no need. I believe you. Your parents could’ve dropped it in the office.”

Me: “No! You said in your voicemail that I had to hand-deliver the note today, or else I fail for the semester. You are going to take this note!”

Director: “I didn’t mean—”

Me: “That’s what you said to do, and you know I always do what I’m told. Take it.”

He groans, takes the note, drops it on his stand, and immediately heads for the hand sanitizer. I hear a few of my classmates laugh.

Me: “And I’m excused from tonight? I won’t fail?”

Director: “Correct. You won’t fail and you are excused. Now, please go home before you infect the whole class!”

Me: “Gladly!”

My friends waved at me as I shuffled back out. I did not fail, but he didn’t talk to me much for the rest of the year.

In my Statistics and Probability college class, there are over thirty students in a six-row-by-six-column desk setting. The day starts with a fun lesson on the probability of two people having the same birthday, month and day only, not including the year.

A girl on the opposite side of the room says there’s no way that’s possible as there aren’t enough people. The professor tells her to watch and see. He goes up and down the columns of students, asking them for their birthdays and writing them on the chalkboard. When he gets to the second column and a student says their birthday, we hear a shriek come from the farthest side of the room.

The girl who had proclaimed disbelief earlier is now wide-eyed and has her hand over her mouth. “That’s my birthday!” she exclaims, and the class erupts in laughter.

I looked up the statistic and there’s a fifty-fifty chance with only twenty-three people!

I work for a company that deals with queries from students regarding loans. We tend to get lots of strange questions, but this one I find frustrating.

Student: “Hi. I’m wondering when I’m getting my final payment for first year.”

Me: “Okay, it seems that we have overpaid you so you won’t be getting any more money.”

Student: “Yes, but when will I get my payment for first year?”

Me: “You won’t. We’ve already overpaid you; you won’t get more money.”

Student: “Yes, but I sent in medical evidence.”

Me: “You did. We have looked at it and decided we’ve already given you too much money. You were also advised this when you called last week.”

Student: “Yes, but my colleagues get more money than I do.”

Me: “I can’t comment on what other people get; however, as I have stated, you have been overpaid so you won’t get more money.”

Student: “Okay, but when will I get my last payment for first year?”

Me: “You won’t get any more payments for first year as we’ve overpaid you.”

Student: “I don’t understand why. I sent in medical evidence.”

Me: “Yes, I know. As I’ve already stated, we have looked at this and you aren’t entitled to any more money; we have already given you too much.”

Student: “Yes, but my colleagues got more than me.”

Me: “Again, I can’t comment on other people’s financial situations.”

Student: “Okay, so when am I getting my payment for first year?”

Me: “You’re not getting any more money from us; we’ve already given you too much. I have explained this four times now.”

Student: “Okay, I understand.”

I don’t think he understood. I checked his course and he was going to be a doctor. I worry about his future patients.

I am an admission counselor for a university, which basically means I answer people’s questions and help them decide if they want to apply. I have this conversation way too often.

Me: “Hi. How can I help you today?”

Student: “I want to go to college.”

Me: “Awesome, you’ve come to the right place! What program are you interested in?”

Student: “I don’t know.”

Me: “Okay, what would you see yourself doing once you get this degree?”

Student: “I don’t know.”

Me: “May I ask why you want to get a degree if you’re unsure what you want to do with it?”

Student: “I just want a degree.”

I go over the basic spiel of tuition cost, term lengths, etc.

Me: “I am happy to send you this information in an email, as well, and my contact information will be in there, so feel free to give me a call if you have any further questions!”

Student: “Okay.”

Me: “Thank you for calling and have a great day!”

Student: “Okay.”

Cue them never answering my follow up calls or emails. And people wonder why admission counselors get burnt out so quickly.