When I was an undergrad, there was a story circulating about a student in the previous section of Calculus 101 — an entry-level course with easily 400 students — who repeatedly ignored calls to turn in his final exam after time was called.
Finally, as the Professor was headed out of the lecture hall with all the other students’ exams, he ran up to give her his.
She said, “I’m sorry, I can’t accept this. You’ve had at least ten extra minutes.”
The student paused, looked at the Professor, and asked her, “do you know who I am?”
When she replied “no” — he shoved his exam into the middle of the huge stack of exams she was carrying, and ran out of the hall.
Fast Forward to Today
I was reminded of that anecdote this morning, as I tried to decide whether I could wear a very scruffy pair of shoes to the weekly Exceptional Properties meeting.
With all the snow and salt on the ground, it’s a terrible time to trot out a new pair of good shoes (sitting in my closet).
On the other hand, the current pair are just this side of embarrassing.
Thinking about the anonymous pile of shoes that would inevitably be massed in the doorway . . . I knew I didn’t need to worry.