(I’m taking a finance class. We’re preparing for our midterm, which involves a lot of formulas. The professor is talking to us right before the end of class.)

Professor #1: “Oh! One more thing. You are allowed to use whatever information you can fit on a 3×5 notecard. Class dismissed. See you Thursday. Be ready!”

(I get an idea on Wednesday night. I type up all the relevant formulas in a Word document, shrink the font so that it will fit on the notecard, print it out, cut out the 3×5 square, and tape it to the notecard. The next day, the professor does a card check. When he gets to me…)

Professor #1: *inspects my card* “You typed this? Nice job! I’m gonna keep this in mind as a tip for future students.”

(Fast forward to the next semester. I’m in a Strategic Management class, which is my final course before I graduate. We are a couple of days out from our final exam.)

Professor #2: “Remember, guys, you can use one 3×5 notecard on your exam. Whatever you can fit, you can use. I’ll even let you use the front and back.”

(Everyone groans, as there’s a lot of vocabulary involved, and there’s no way that we can possibly fit everything on there, even if we use the back.)

Professor #2: “Do your best. Now, get outta here. Exam Wednesday. Last thing between most of you and graduation!”

(I remember what I did for my finance class and get to work typing definitions and principles. It takes some extra creativity, but I manage to shrink the text to make it small yet readable, and get about 75% of the content on the study guide onto the notecard. Fast forward to Wednesday. The professor walks in.)

Professor #2: “All right, people! Card check. Bring ‘em out!”

(He gets to me. He picks up my card and inspects it with a raised eyebrow.)

Professor #2: “You’ve got most of the study guide on here. How did you do that?”

Me: “Typed it.”

(He turns it upside down and squints at it.)

Professor #2: “Can you even read this?”

Me: “Yes.”

(He starts laughing.)

Professor #2: “[My Name], you’re a smart-a**.”

(I passed my exam with 90%.)

Until the sale of certain fireworks was banned, every October and November the playgrounds of UK schools would be subject to screamer rockets set off at ground level and bangers (no, not sausages) being thrown. Obviously, there were rules about having fireworks on school grounds, but your typical comprehensive school inmate doesn’t think the rules apply to them. 

One genius at my school had just lit a banger but was spotted doing so by a teacher. Rather than throw it away, our hero stuck it in the back pocket of his jeans with the obvious outcome when the fuse burnt down. 

So, not only did he get detention, it was detention while sitting on an unforgiving school chair with a tender posterior. Obviously, we had the utmost sympathy for his plight and didn’t take the mickey at all.

This story is part of the American Independence Day 2021 roundup!

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Back in third or fourth grade, we had someone come into our class for a special science lesson. They had petri dishes, swabs, and an incubator, and immediately after recess, they asked us to swab our hands and wipe the swab on a petri dish. Then, we were told to wash our hands with a bar of soap they brought in — the usual liquid soap was off-limits for some reason — and then re-swab our hands for another petri dish. We then labeled both dishes, put them in the incubator, and came back the next day to look at the results.

Almost everyone had more bacteria on their hands after washing them. The exceptions were two girls who “probably scrubbed enough to remove most of the bacteria physically.” It was explained that certain types of bar soap were actually decent places for bacteria to live, and that denying us the liquid soap was a trap. The presenter then went on to talk about some of the colonies of bacteria on the slides and some interesting or rare ones, as well as which ones might be dangerous.

So… that’s the story of why I stopped using all soap for over a decade — and still prefer liquid soap over bar soap. In my defense, I was young and may have missed the point of the presenter. On the other hand, he was giving a presentation to young children on how washing your hands with soap can actually add bacteria. Why would you ever think that is a good idea?

(For the past few summers, I’ve worked as a camp counselor for an arts/theatre camp in between semesters at school. The camp is based out of a school but we’re not connected to the school. For context, I am a certified EMT with extra certification in Tactical/Combat medicine. I’ve also done Krav Maga — an intense Israeli martial art — for a few years and am about to become certified as an instructor in that. The female counselor is about to finish her teaching degree and has about eight years of experience teaching and working with kids under her belt. Our campers range in age from about four to ten, and we have about 30 of them. We take them out to the playground after lunch. After about ten minutes, I notice the boys getting rougher and rougher. Then, one boy punches another in the jaw. I immediately break up the fight and check on the victim, who is the brother of the puncher.)

Me: “Are you okay?”

Victim: Yes.”

Me: “Do you need ice?”

Victim: “No.”

Me: “Do you need me to call the trainer?”

(We’re supposed to ask for liability even though I guarantee you I know more than she does. Whatever, I don’t mind.)

Victim: “No.”

(About every ten minutes for the next hour, I check on him and ask him the same questions. His response is always the same. My female counselor disciplines the brother. It’s not harsh because we’re at camp but we believe it’s fair for a punch. Turns out the victim had been stealing the brother’s hat throughout the day and he’d eventually had enough. The next day, we’re called to a meeting with my boss and the person in charge of the school’s summer program. The mother of the boys is also there. We tell them what happened.)

Mother: “I can’t believe you didn’t call the trainer. My son could’ve had a broken jaw. He came home saying his head hurt all day.”

Me: “He didn’t want me to call the trainer.”

Mother: “He said you didn’t even give him any ice.”

Me: “That is correct.”

Mother: “Don’t you think someone with medical experience should’ve seen him? Honestly, the entitlement of you all is astounding.”

Me: “Yes, I do.”

Mother: “Then why didn’t you call the trainer?”

Me: “Because…”

(I list my credentials to her.)

Me: “That, coupled with the fact that when I asked him, he said he didn’t want the trainer, made me think it wasn’t the best use of her time.”

Mother: “Well, why didn’t you stop the fight?”

Me: “I did. The second I saw the punch, I intervened.”

Mother: “Why didn’t you intervene before the fight started?”

Me: “Because I’m not psychic. I’m gonna go do my job now.”

(I walked out and back to work. The mother and boss of the school’s program wanted me fired but my boss refused. Luckily, she agreed with me and realized how dumb the mother was being.)

(My dorm has a dance held in a roller skating rink every fall/winter on a Friday. I’m sleeping one Sunday morning when I wake up to a very loud “What the f***?!” yelled right outside my dorm room. When I go outside to investigate, I see my RA talking with the room down the hall from me, and I hear this conversation:)

Students: “What do you mean, ‘what the f***’?”

Resident Advisor: “You know exactly what I mean. Why is there a shopping cart in your room?”

Students: “Oh, yeah. We’ve been meaning to ask you about that; can we take it to the dance on Friday?”

Resident Advisor: “Why?”

Students: “So we can put someone in it and sling them around on the roller skating rink.”

Resident Advisor: “First off, please don’t. But second, how would you even get it there? It’s not going to fit on the bus.”

Students: “We could just leave it there the night beforehand.”

Resident Advisor: “Again, I have to tell you that you can’t do that.”

Students: “All right, but what if we put someone in it and sling the cart into the lake?”

Resident Advisor: “As your RA, I have to advise against doing that. But, if you do, please take a video.”