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.

When I was in high school, our school offered a driver’s ed course. It was a classroom-only course to learn the rules of the road; there was no practical driving in an actual vehicle. I’m convinced that the teacher they’d chosen for this class hated teenagers. Why he was teaching in a high school, I’ll never know.

On the very first day of class, he told us all that he “believed that no teenager should ever drive a car” and that his own teenage son was forbidden from taking a driver’s ed course until [Teacher] was satisfied with how much he knew about driving. I always wondered how the poor kid was expected to learn enough to satisfy his dad without taking any classes. 

Throughout the class, the teacher would tell us graphic stories about what would happen if we drank and drove, used our phone while driving, or even had the radio on in the car. Here are some of my favorites.

He described getting into a car accident and getting thrown through the windshield because, of course, we aren’t wearing seatbelts. This one included a handout with a graphic play-by-play of the horrific damage done to your body from one moment to the next. 

He described taking a run turn too quickly on a motorcycle, losing control, and crashing into a cornfield. In this particular lovely scenario, both of our legs are broken, so it takes three days to drag ourselves back to the road so anyone can see us to rescue us. I’m not sure how far into this hypothetical cornfield he imagined we’d be thrown.

By the end of the five-week course, half of the fifteen- or sixteen-year-old students in the class that had been so excited about getting a license were now completely terrified of going anywhere near a vehicle. 

This was a fine example of a teacher with no interest in teaching. He didn’t want teenagers to drive, and he certainly got what he wanted. I don’t think a single one of us felt prepared for behind-the-wheel practice after that class.

My senior year of high school, I have two study hall periods. About a week into the school year, one of the guidance counselors approaches me during study hall.

Counselor: “[My Name], why haven’t you been attending cooking class?”

Me: “Because I’m not taking cooking class?”

Counselor: “You’re on the class roster and you’ve been marked absent every day.”

Me: “That’s weird. It’s not on my course schedule.”

Counselor: “Huh. Did you sign up for it?”

Me: “No. I signed up freshman year, but I switched classes a couple of weeks in, and I definitely didn’t sign up for it this year.”

Counselor: “Do you want to take it?”

Me: “No.”

Counselor: “Okay, I guess we’ll remove you from the class, then.”

It was admittedly unusual for a student to have two Study Halls, and I initially assumed that the cooking class took place during one of my two study halls, but I later learned that it actually shared the same time block as my AP Calculus class. Apparently, I was supposed to be in two places at once. Very strange.