Our teacher in math class is explaining something relatively simple, but it soon becomes apparent that a girl in the class doesn’t understand fractions. He broke it down into simpler and simpler explanations, but she’s just not getting it. Eventually:

Teacher: “What is larger, 1/2 or 1/3?”

Student: “Three is more than two, so 1/3 is larger.”

The teacher drew two circles on the board, divided one into two and the other into three parts.

Teacher: “Which is bigger?”

Student: “1/3.”

The teacher erased both circles, grabbed two pieces of paper, ripped one in half, and one in thirds. Held up a piece of both.

Teacher: “Which one is larger?”

She pointed at the 1/3 piece.

He threw the rest of the pieces in the trash, leaving only one-third of one sheet and one-half of the other sheet.

Teacher: “Forget that there are more pieces, just look at the size. Which one is larger?”

She pointed at the smaller one again. Defeated, the teacher lowered his arms and walked back to his desk.

Teacher: “Please take no offense in this… but are you familiar with the words and concepts of ‘smaller and larger’?”

Student: “Yeah, I am.”

The teacher points to some trees outside.

Teacher: “See those trees? Which is larger, right or left?”

Student: “Left.”

Teacher: “That’s right. I’d say the left tree is a good few feet taller. Okay, so then, which piece of paper is larger?”

He holds them up again. She points at the smaller piece.

That’s the first and only time I have ever seen a teacher walk out of a classroom before the students.

She was genuinely not trolling. She was an arrogant, stuck-up ‘mean girl’ at the time (bordering on narcissism), so I don’t think she was able to accept she could be wrong.

Related:
Not Even Fractionally Getting It, Part 2
Not Even Fractionally Getting It

This story reminds me of an incident we had during a school trip

It’s common for Dutch schools to have a cultural trip abroad in the pre-exam year. It’s partly educational, but also a nice way to have a few fun days with the class.

During our trip, there was also a day of white-water rafting in the French Alps. Though white doesn’t do justice to the brilliant blue of that river due to its mineral content. The water flows quickly, but it’s safe enough to also jump in at many parts, and there are frequent small islands where you can stop and have a break. The rafting is organized by a local company.

This part of the trip is optional; if a student does not want to join, they are free not to, and we explain the risks clearly and have them sign a waiver.

Once on the water, what you’d expect to happen when you put over forty sixteen-to-seventeen-year-olds on rafts happens, and there is lots of trying to pull people from the rafts, splashing, and general fun, but it all seems okay. 

Until halfway through the experience, one of the instructors on the other raft flags down the one I am on and calls out to me.

Instructor: “Monsieur! Monsieur! Your student. He has broken his shoulder!”

I immediately panic and have flashes of helicopters having to fly in to lift the student from the river, as I’m being taken to them on the island, a raft has stopped. As I arrive, I run towards the student.

Me: “What happened?! Are you alright?”

He looks at me and says:

Student: “Oh yeah. No biggie. I just dislocated my shoulder. That has happened like five times already this year. I’m going to the hospital to have that surgically corrected during the summer. I’ll just need a sling and some aspirin.”

Me: “What possessed you to go wild water rafting if that’s the case?”

Student: “Well, it seemed like fun!”

Once we got back safely and he was in his sling, I, of course, had to contact his parents, who were obviously a tad upset that he’d gone rafting against, as it turned out, his doctor’s advice, but basically chalked it up as an important lesson for him to listen to doctors next time.

Student: “They put me in British Lit this semester. But I just don’t get it. They haven’t even taught me the language yet.”

Me: “What do you mean? What language?”

Student: “The British language. Everything is just in English.”

This is a story from a while back. I was working in IT support in the glory days of WinNT. Back then, we had to set up each user on each machine individually. None of those new-fangled roaming profiles or automatic setups. One of the areas we supported was our University’s Finance department. We noticed that we were having to do an awful lot of setups and moves for these guys. At least one a day, for an office of about thirty people. So eventually we asked what was up.

It turned out that the previous Finance Director had gotten everything set up exactly the way he wanted it. Every person had a job, their computer had the software, or in some cases hardware, they needed. Every person knew their job, and only their job. It was all one well-oiled machine.

Which would jam up if anyone took leave, so he didn’t let them. Now, I was hearing this after the fact, so I don’t know how that worked in practice, but that was what I was told. Perhaps the American readers are nodding their heads as if this were self-evident, but we have different standards in Australia.

However, he managed it; it all went well until he left, and a new Finance Director took the position and lost their s***. Let me explain two things. First, under our workplace agreement, neither sick nor annual leave expires. If you’ve worked there for ten years, and you don’t take leave, then you have sixty weeks of leave accumulated. (four weeks annual + two weeks sick multiplied by ten).

The second thing is Long Service Leave. In Australia, it’s common to have a provision where if you’ve worked for the same company for seven to eleven years, you get a big chunk of leave, say ten to fifteen weeks, all at once. The numbers are a range because they vary between companies. At our university, it was thirteen weeks after seven years.

All this accumulated leave, thirty years’ worth, I’d guess, is considered a liability to the organisation. So, the new Director’s number one priority was to have her staff take their leave. Immediately.

Except… the machine still needed to work.

So… they’d get a temp person in, train them on their role so the original staff member could go on leave, then they’d get a new person for the next role, etc. The guy who told me this was about to go on leave for eighteen months.

So that was why we had so many new setups. Eighteen months later, I ran into that Finance guy again. He was back after his break, which he said was very refreshing.

In the era before cell phones, my college had one system for getting a message out fast: an incredibly loud PA system with all the audio fidelity of two cans and a piece of string.

Lab Manager: “We’re going to have a surprise emergency drill tomorrow.”

Grad Student #1: “That’s not much of a surprise, is it?”

Lab Manager: “Well, no, but they told the lab staff so we could make sure we didn’t have anything too dangerous or expensive going on. So tomorrow, we’re going to work on [completely safe project] instead of [less safe project]. And they’re going to set the fire alarms off, and then we’ll get evacuation instructions over the PA.”

The next day, all of us grad students are working on our safety project, nervously staring up at the fire alarms. Sure enough, right before noon…

Fire Alarms: “WHOOP WHOOP!”

Me: “Okay, so do we run?”

Grad Student #1: “No, I think [Manager] said we wait for instructions over the PA. I guess they’re going to tell us where to go.”

We wait for about thirty seconds, which feels VERY long while the alarm is going off. Finally…

PA: “Gabo! Thazzy nog roll! Gumow! Sizno jull!”

Grad Student #2: “Well, I certainly feel like we’re in safe hands.”

Me: “I guess I’ll just go downstairs and tell whoever is trying to use the PA we can’t understand him.”

I jog downstairs. Undergrads are rushing around with a lot more care than they usually give a drill. I chalk it up to this being a surprise until I get to the ground floor, and…

Campus Staff: *Screaming into PA.* “Get out! This is not a drill! Get out! This is not a drill!”

I have never run up three flights of stairs so fast. The next day, we all had a meeting and quickly decided that the default option was ‘if in doubt, get out.’