Making The Grade By The Letter Of The Law

, , , , , , | Learning | June 1, 2021

About twenty years ago, I was attending law school part-time during the day while still keeping my full-time job, which provided tuition reimbursement. Despite that, my grades were just below the top ten percent of the class. To minimize classroom time, one summer I requested permission for a one-credit research class that I could work on during my free time.

I was directed to a professor in my area of interest who agreed to supervise the project by email, though we never met. I suggested a topic, with which he was amenable, and he emailed over the rubric for the paper so that it would fulfill the requirements.

After five or six weeks, I completed the legal research and began writing the paper. A week later, I emailed a draft that had some edits, but the email back was reasonably positive about the paper. I showed it to some of my colleagues at work, who also gave very positive feedback. I incorporated all of the edits and suggestions and submitted it by email to the professor.

He gave me a C+, my lowest grade in Law School (before or after). I emailed him and asked for feedback but got no real explanation other than that he wasn’t impressed.

I was quite annoyed. Around the same time, I happened to notice a contest in a law school journal where the best student-written paper would get published and win a significant cash prize — $2,500. Second and third place also received money and publication. Since I had the C+ paper I’d just written, I sent it in, just for kicks.

Sometime later — at least several months — the journal called me to let me know that my C+ paper won first place in the contest out of more than forty or fifty submissions. It was published and I got the check. The award ceremony was in California and I was on the East coast, so I wasn’t able to attend.

As a coda, I wrote a letter to the school newspaper detailing this story and explaining how paper grades were very subjective. The professor was apparently annoyed; in that letter, I did use his name. He took the trouble to email me that he’d purported to show the letter to a judge friend of his, who supposedly would have only given me a B.

I don’t care because I had $2,500 extra in the bank. Honestly, if he had given me an A, I’m not sure I would have submitted it to the contest, so I can’t really complain.

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You Try To Do Something Nice…

, , , , , | Friendly | CREDIT: 5_Frog_Margin | May 30, 2021

I saw someone lose their smartphone in real-time. I was driving behind her and saw it fly off the top of her car on a busy one-lane highway. It was a little dangerous, but I pulled over, waited for a break in traffic, and darted out to grab the phone. It was miraculously unharmed. Her background pic showed a woman in her twenties and her partner.

I kept driving around doing my errands until her phone rang, about thirty or forty minutes later. I told her where the phone had flown off the roof and how I’d retrieved it and mentioned that she must have put it up there while getting gas or something.

Her response?

Woman: “Okay. Could you bring it here to me in [Her Town, thirty minutes away], please? I work at [Pizza Joint].”

Me: “Uhhhh… That’s nowhere near me. I’m in [My Town]. You can pick it up here. I’ll meet you at the [Donut Shop].”

Woman: *Annoyed* “I can’t drive all the way to [My Town]. I don’t know [My Town]. Let’s meet halfway at [Popular Restaurant].”

Me: “That’s not even remotely halfway. [Popular Restaurant] is still in your town. Want to just pick it up later?”


She put her boyfriend on the phone.

Boyfriend: “Dude, what’s your f****** problem? Give her back her phone already.”

This went on for a few minutes with the boyfriend getting “tougher and tougher.” I have zero tolerance for s***ty behavior, so I hung up on them and shut off the phone.

I was going to visit my grandfather the next day, so I kept the phone on me until then. When I got to granddad’s town two hours away, I turned the phone on, found the girl’s father in her contacts, called him, and told him everything. He was very apologetic, and I’m guessing it wasn’t his first rodeo. I told him that, due to her rudeness — and her boyfriend’s thinly-veiled threats — the phone could now be picked up at the local police station in my granddad’s hometown.

Dad’s response?

Dad: “Looks like she’ll have a three-hour drive both ways this weekend. Sorry again.”

This story is part of our Best Of May 2021 roundup!

Read the next Best Of May 2021 roundup story!

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Never Mess With Someone Who Only Talks In Capital Letters

, , , , , , | Right | CREDIT: mtbikechick | May 30, 2021

It’s the beginning of summer during the health crisis and things are sort of getting back to normal with stores. I have been out mountain biking with some friends, and I stop by a big store to pick up a few things to make dinner for my daughter and me. Then, I happen to see my best friend with her child. He is turning four years old, and she is buying him a bicycle for his birthday. This is right up my alley!

Me: “Great! Let Auntie [My Name] help you out with it.”

We find a good sixteen-inch-wheel starter bike and look at helmets, and I even fit the helmet to him. [Best Friend] and I chat a bit while her child looks at other toys.

Then, I hear an “ahem” and I turn to see a woman standing there.

Me: “I’m sorry if I’m in your way of the shelves.”

Customer: *Rudely* “Now that you are done with her, you can help me with my child and a bike for him.”

Me: “Sorry, ma’am, I don’t work here. I was just helping my friend with her son.”

Customer: “Yes, you do! You are wearing cycling clothes!”

Me: “I just got finished with a ride about an hour ago and came here to pick things up and saw my friend. I’m just helping her. I’m sure one of the employees would be glad to help you. I really don’t work here.”

Best Friend: “She doesn’t work here, lady.”

Customer: “You need to butt out and shut up. I wasn’t talking to you.”

Me: *To my friend* “Oh, my God! Let’s go and get away from this crazy lady.”


Me: *Trying to stay calm* “I DON’T WORK HERE!”

My friends always say that I am really scary when I’m mad. I’m 5’10” and fit; I’m not a small woman. We try to walk away and the lady grabs my arm. I pull out of her grip.

Me: “If you touch me again, I will have you arrested!”

I try to walk away again and she grabs my cycling jersey.


Me: “Let go of my jersey, you f****** wingnut!”

Then, a manager comes around the corner and the lady screams at him.


Manager: “Ma’am, she doesn’t work here, and you need to let her go before I have you escorted out the door.”


I pull my jersey from her grip and she tries to slap me. I grab her wrist in mid-flight.


And I twist her arm behind her. The woman is now yelling about assault and screaming about how badly I am hurting her arm as I pull it up behind her back. I do have a lot of fighting training. [Best Friend] is recording it all on her phone and trying to calm her kid at the same time.

Me: *To the manager* “Call the sheriff’s department right now. I’m having her arrested!”


Me: “I don’t think so!”

I wrench her arm up harder, and escort her and her crying kid up to the front of the store as we wait for someone from the sheriff’s department. Two deputy sheriffs walk in; I know them both from having to use the sheriff’s department a lot in my line of work. I let go and the woman screams.


Deputy #1: “Ma’am, you need to calm down right now!”


[Best Friend], the manager, and I just stand there, wait for the deputies to handle everything, and answer anything that is asked of us.

Deputy #2: “[My Name]… what is going on here?”

Customer: “YOU KNOW THIS B****?! ARREST HER!”

Deputy #1: “You need to be quiet or I’m going to arrest you!”

I am feeling really bad for her child; he is crying as another employee tries to keep him calm. [Customer] keeps screaming. Then, they cuff her as the manager, [Best Friend], and I talk to [Deputy #2] about what happened.

I don’t want to press charges because I don’t want to spend time in court; I spend enough time in court with my line of work.

The woman is banned from that store. The manager apologizes for everything and gives my best friend and me $50 gift cards. I hand mine to [Best Friend], and it pays for the bike and helmet.

I think that will be the end of this and that I’ll never see that woman again. I am wrong.

Two weeks go by. I’m in my office at work; I own a home rental business, family-owned. I spent my whole life in this business and took over when my parents retired. I’ve told everyone in the office about what happened at the store.

This one fine day, this couple comes in to file and sign final paperwork on a home rental. My office manager buzzes me and asks if I can come out to meet the new renters and introduce myself to them. As I walk up front, a look of shock hits my face. It’s the lady from the store!


Me: *Calmly* “Yes, I do work here.”


Her husband turns red with embarrassment. I point to the office manager.

Me: “She is the manager; talk to her.”

Customer: *Yelling at my manager* “YOU SHOULD FIRE THIS WORTHLESS B****!”

Office Manager: “I can’t fire her; only the owner of the company can fire her.”


Office Manager: *Pointing at me* “She is the owner.”

Me: “Yes, you are in my place of business. I’m not going to rent a house to you and I’m asking you to leave right now, never to come back, before I call the sheriff’s department.”

She left in a big hurry with her husband in tow.

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Well, At Least He Learned Something…

, , , , , , , | Learning | May 29, 2021

Teacher: “For our next science test, I will award the person who scores the highest a $20 prize.”

To a ten-year-old kid back in the 1990s, this was serious cash.

A few days later, I went into the empty classroom during lunch break and spotted a stack of the aforementioned tests on the teacher’s desk. Devil horns sprouted out of my head as I grinned from ear to ear, snatched a test off the stack, and stuffed it in my backpack.

I figured the teacher would get suspicious of a C-average student suddenly scoring a perfect on a relatively difficult exam, so that evening when I was at home, I memorized that test forward, backward, out of order, sideways, upside down, and even made flashcards for myself. The following morning, I took the test, and the day after that — just as I was fully fearing — the teacher stopped me at the door as the class was filing in to begin the day and marched me straight to the principal’s office. After presenting her accusations and hearing my denial, they demanded I retake the test in front of them.

I wish I could describe the bewildered looks on their faces after the teacher graded my test, only for me to score another “perfect” score. The teacher then tried asking questions from the test out of order and then rewording the questions to trip me up into giving an incorrect answer. Then, suddenly, she flung the test down.

Teacher: “He’s not even hesitating to answer or taking any time to think!”

I ended walking out of that office feeling like Billy Bada**.

She later did give me the $20 — begrudgingly, with an “I know you did something” look on her face.

Does the story end there? Unfortunately for me… no. For the rest of the school year, every time a science test was approaching, the teacher would announce the date of the test, and would always end the announcement this way.

Teacher: *Ominously* “And I expect a certain someone in this classroom to score no less than 100%, or he will be in more trouble than he has even been in in his entire life!”

And for the rest of the school year, I made science my number one subject to focus 90% of my attention on, and I would spend hours frantically studying for each approaching test — far too terrified to score less than 100% each time. Once, I scored a 95% and nearly pissed myself.

Disclaimer: Cheating on schoolwork is something I now as an adult do not condone; you are only robbing yourself. I am only laughing at the humor of this situation which occurred nearly thirty years ago.

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Excuse Me, I Need To Schedule My Oral Foot Removal Surgery

, , , , | Right | May 28, 2021

A customer comes to my till. One of his items is a large chocolate bar.

Customer: “No, that’s the wrong price!”

Me: “I buy these all the time; this is the right price.”

He walks me down to the shelf where he got the chocolate and points out the price tag.

Me: “Sir, that’s the price tag for the regular size bar, not the large.”

Customer: “Are you f****** blind?!”

Me: “Yes, actually, I’m blind in one eye, but I can still see that this price tag is for a regular size bar, not a large one. Look at the small letters under the price.”

He immediately became nicer, and he bought me a chocolate bar.

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