School Daze

School teaches you nearly everything, except how to stop asking questions like these.

151. If I study in my sleep, do I get partial credit?

Only if you dream the right answers. Most people dream they forgot their pants, which is worth zero marks. Some students put their textbook under their pillow hoping the knowledge will soak in overnight. It doesn't. The only thing that soaks in is drool, which makes page 47 crunchy forever. A few rare sleepers do solve problems in dreams, but they usually wake up knowing the answer to a question nobody asked, like "how many marshmallows fit in a tuba." (Eleven hundred. We checked.) Sleep is great for remembering what you studied. It just can't do the studying for you.

152. Can I use a calculator on a spelling test?

Yes, but it can only spell words like "SHELL" and "BOSS" upside down. Choose your essay topic carefully. A calculator's full vocabulary includes "HELLO" (0.7734), "SOIL" (which is at least educational) and "GOOGLE" if you squint. That's enough for exactly one story: a boss with a shell who says hello to a goose. Your teacher will be confused but impressed by the creativity. Sadly, your calculator cannot spell "necessary" or "definitely," which are the two words everyone gets wrong. For those, you're on your own.

153. Why is it called homework if I do it at the kitchen table?

Because "kitchen-tablework" didn't fit on the worksheet. Historically, homework could be done anywhere in the home: the couch, the floor, the bathtub (not recommended for paper) and, in desperate moments, the back seat of the car on the way to school. The kitchen table became the official location because it's close to the snacks and parents can see you pretending to work. The table has seen everything: tears over long division, glitter from 1,000 projects and at least one volcano. If tables could talk, this one would just sigh.

154. Is "the dog ate my homework" valid if I don't have a

dog?

Only if you also explain where the dog came from. Teachers love a story with a twist. Was it a neighbour's dog? A stray? A wolf, temporarily disguised? Did it eat only the math homework, out of spite, while leaving the art project untouched? Details matter. Teachers have heard "the dog ate it" roughly 4 million times, so you'll need a fresh angle, like "the goose ate it," which is more believable because geese eat everything. Brent has eaten three essays and a book report on Charlotte's Web, and he regrets nothing.

155. If I raise my hand and forget my question, do I have to put it down?

Leave it up and stretch casually. You're not asking anymore; you're reaching for knowledge. If the teacher calls on you, panic quietly and say "I was just going to say I agree." Agree with what? Doesn't matter. Nod like you mean it. Another classic is "never mind, you just answered it," which works 100% of the time and makes you look attentive. The worst-case scenario is that you remember the question halfway through saying never mind, and it's "can I go to the bathroom." Then you have to raise your hand again, which is twice the embarrassment.

156. Why do we learn cursive if nobody can read it?

Cursive lets grandparents write birthday cards nobody under 20 can decode. It's encryption disguised as penmanship. A cursive capital Q looks like the number 2 wearing a fancy hat. A cursive Z looks like a 3 that's falling down stairs. Historians believe cursive was invented so quill pens wouldn't have to be lifted off the page, which saved ink and also created a secret code for adults. Today, cursive is mostly used for signatures, wedding invitations and notes from Marjorie, who writes in cursive so elegant it could be framed and so unreadable it could be a threat.

157. Does "C" stand for "correct"?

"C" stands for "could be worse." "A" is awesome, "B" is basically fine, and "F" means this one isn't going on the fridge. "D" stands for "don't show Dad." "E" was quietly removed from the grading system decades ago because it kept being mistaken for "excellent," and students were celebrating failure. Some schools give "A+," which stands for "awesome, plus you're a little bit annoying." A C is like a perfectly average sandwich: no one complains, no one celebrates, everyone moves on with their day.

158. Can I bring a cheat sheet if it's written on my brain?

Yes. That's called studying, and it's the only cheat sheet teachers allow. The brain cheat sheet is unlimited in size, invisible to proctors and can't be confiscated, though it does have a habit of going blank the moment the test starts. To make it work better, write it the night before, review it in the morning and avoid filling it with song lyrics, which take up 80% of available brain space. Fun fact: actually writing a cheat sheet, then not bringing it, often helps you remember. It's the most honest cheating there is.

159. How many pencils does one backpack need?

Thirty-seven, and you'll still borrow one in class. Pencils don't get lost; they migrate. They travel from your backpack to your desk, to your friend's desk, to the floor, to the lost and found and finally to a secret pencil colony under the gym bleachers. Mechanical pencils last a bit longer but break their lead at emotional moments. Every September, parents buy 40 new pencils. By October, the household has two, and one of them is a golf pencil from a mini-putt. Nobody knows where the rest go. Some say it's the same island as the socks (see question 774).

160. Can the cafeteria's mystery meat be solved like a

mystery?

Many students have tried. The clues lead to gravy, and then the trail goes cold. Detectives have examined the shape (rectangular), the texture (yes) and the colour (beige-grey, the official colour of cafeterias). One witness claims it's turkey. Another says chicken. A third whispers "it's Tuesday," as if that explains everything. The lunch lady knows the truth but has taken a vow of silence and wears a hairnet like a badge of honour. The case has been open since 1964 and will remain open forever. It's served with peas, which are also suspicious.

161. How does the bus driver always know who threw it?

That big mirror sees into your soul. It's standard equipment. Every bus driver is also trained in the ancient art of Rear-View Vision, which lets them see a paper airplane leave a hand from 12 rows away while driving through a snowstorm. They can identify each student by the back of their head, the sound of their sneeze and the brand of chips they're secretly eating. They don't turn around. They just say your full name, middle name included, in a calm voice. That's how you know you're done.

162. Is recess a class?

It's the most important class. You study running, yelling and snack economics. Advanced courses include Tetherball Politics, Monkey Bar Physics and the Social Studies of Who Gets the Swing. The curriculum also covers trading cards, which teaches negotiation, and the four-square court, which teaches justice and betrayal. There's no textbook, the teachers are other kids and the final exam is coming back inside before the bell. Many adults look back and realize everything they know about leadership came from deciding who was "it."

163. If I write my essay in a really big font, is it a long essay?

It's a tall essay. Teachers can tell. They have rulers. They also have a sixth sense for 14-point font pretending to be 12-point, extra-wide margins and spacing so generous it could park a truck between lines. Students have also tried changing every period to 14-point font, which stretches the essay by a whole page. Teachers notice. They've seen everything, including an essay written in the font "Comic Sans Gigantic" that was 10 pages long and contained 300 words. It got a C (see question 157). Write more words. It's faster than fighting the ruler.

164. Can I graduate from kindergarten twice?

Only once. It's the only ceremony where everyone cries and nobody knows why, including the graduates. The tiny caps fall off, the tiny gowns trip people and one child always waves at their family during the entire national anthem. The diploma says things like "Excellent at Glue Sticks." Parents film it on three devices. Kindergarten graduates go on to grade one, where the work is harder and the naps are cancelled, which is the first great tragedy of life. If you could graduate twice, everyone would, just for the cupcakes.

165. Who was the first teacher, and who taught them?

The first teacher learned everything from a very patient rock. The rock still has tenure. It taught the first lessons by simply sitting there while humans tripped over it, learning "look where you're going," the oldest lesson there is. The rock then moved on to geology, which was a little self-centred. It has never missed a day of work and has never given a test, which makes it the most beloved teacher in history. Its classroom is a field. Its only rule is "don't lick me." Marjorie studied under the rock in her youth. She won't say for how long.

166. Is gym class the same as going to the gym?

No. At a gym you choose your exercise. In gym class, a whistle chooses it for you, and it's always dodgeball. Gym class also involves the dreaded rope climb, a giant parachute that everyone loves for exactly four minutes and the fitness test known as the beep test, a recording that gets faster and faster like a nightmare in a shoebox. The teacher wears shorts in all weather, including blizzards, and carries a clipboard full of mysterious tick marks. Adult gyms are different: nobody yells "hustle," and you're allowed to quit and go get a smoothie.

167. If I skip a grade, can I skip a birthday too?

No. Your age goes up the normal way. Only your homework gets harder faster. Skipping a grade means you'll be the youngest in your class, which comes with perks (people think you're a genius) and drawbacks (you're 30 cm shorter than everyone at the dance). If you could skip birthdays, people would just skip their way to retirement and miss all the cake. There have been rumours of a kid in Medicine Hat who skipped three grades and two birthdays, but he turned out to be a very tall eight-year-old with excellent forging skills.

168. Is the teachers' lounge a real place or a legend?

It's real. It contains a coffee machine older than the school and a fridge with a "LABEL YOUR FOOD" sign that nobody obeys. There's also a couch with springs that poke through, a microwave that has never been cleaned, and a bulletin board covered in flyers for yoga classes from 2011. Teachers go there to eat, grade papers and say things about students they'd never say in class, mostly "why did he eat the glue again." Students who catch a glimpse through the door report seeing teachers laughing, which is shocking, because nobody knew they could.

169. Can I take a sick day from summer vacation?

No. Summer is the sick day. You already used it. In fact, if you get sick during summer vacation, you lose that day forever, which is the cruellest trick the calendar plays. Students have petitioned for "summer sick-day refunds" for decades. The school board always says no, citing "that's not how anything works." The only valid way to extend summer is to fall asleep at the beginning of August and wake up in mid-August, which still somehow feels like summer ended in a single afternoon. That's not a refund. That's a nap with consequences.

170. Why is it called a pop quiz if nothing pops?

Your confidence pops. It's like a balloon, but with grades. The word "pop" was chosen because it sounds fun, like popcorn or a pop song, to lure you into a false sense of security. Then the teacher says "clear your desks," and you hear a tiny popping sound inside your chest. Some students claim to sense pop quizzes in advance, like animals sensing an earthquake. They become restless, sweaty and suddenly very interested in the textbook. If you see your smartest classmate reading chapter 6 before class, prepare yourself.

171. What's the square root of a carrot?

A small carrot, peeled. Do not use this on the math test. Carrots are already roots, so taking a square root of a root creates a root root, which is just a radish having an identity crisis. The cube root of a carrot is a carrot cube, which is how you get the little carrot pieces in frozen vegetables. The square root of a potato is a tater tot. The square root of a pineapple is an ordinary pine cone, which is disappointing. Your math teacher would like you to stop asking this, but the home economics teacher is very interested.

172. If I divide by zero, will the classroom explode?

Your calculator will say "Error," which is its way of exploding politely. The classroom survives. Your teacher sighs. Dividing by zero is the mathematical equivalent of asking how many times nothing fits into something. The answer isn't infinity, exactly; it's "undefined," which is the math word for "we don't talk about that here." In science fiction, dividing by zero breaks the universe. In real life, it just makes your calculator stare at you. Some old calculators reportedly tried to answer anyway and were never the same. They now live in junk drawers, muttering.

173. Can I get extra credit for showing up?

Showing up is the credit. Extra credit is for showing up with the homework. Extra-extra credit is for showing up with homework and a pencil. The legendary triple-extra credit is reserved for students who bring the teacher a coffee exactly the way they like it, which nobody knows because teachers never say. Extra credit was invented so students who failed a test could make a poster about the water cycle instead. Some students have earned more extra credit than regular credit, which means they technically passed the year by colouring. That's a skill too.

174. Is it still a field trip if we only go to the parking lot?

Yes. It's an asphalt field. Pack a lunch and marvel at the painted lines. Study the local wildlife: a pigeon, three ants and a lost mitten from 2019. Take notes on the geology (cracks), the botany (one dandelion growing bravely through the pavement) and the history (whoever scratched their initials in the curb). Permission slips are still required. Parents will volunteer as chaperones. Someone will forget their lunch. Someone will cry because they wanted the window seat on the walk. It will be one of the best days of the year.

175. Why are school chairs so uncomfortable?

To keep you awake. Any softer and the entire class would be asleep by 10 a.m. School chairs are designed by a secret committee of engineers whose motto is "not too comfortable, never too stable." Each chair has one leg slightly shorter than the others so it wobbles at emotional moments. The plastic is chosen to squeak loudly when you shift, alerting the teacher that you're alive. Leaning back on two legs is forbidden, but every student does it anyway, until the day they fall and the whole class gasps. That chair is then retired with honours.

176. Does the class pet get a report card?

Yes. The hamster's always says "Runs well, but needs to apply himself outside the wheel." The goldfish gets "Quiet, attentive, forgets things," and the class snake gets "Excellent posture; frightening during story time." Class pets also go home with students on weekends, which is a test of responsibility for the kids and a test of patience for the pet. The hamster has been to 40 homes and has seen things. It knows which families eat dinner in front of the TV. It will never tell. It's too busy running nowhere very quickly.

177. If I memorize the dictionary, am I done with English

class?

No, now you have to use the words in sentences. Sorry. Then you have to write essays with those sentences, analyze poems made of those words and explain why a character in a novel looked at a lake for three pages. The dictionary has about 470,000 entries in its biggest editions, so memorizing it will take most of your childhood and leave no room for anything else, like your locker combination. You'll also discover that English adds new words every year, like "doomscroll," so you'll never be done. Learning a language is like painting a bridge: by the time you finish, you have to start again.

178. Can I hand in a blank page and call it modern art?

In math class, it's a zero. In art class, it might get a B. Title it "Snowstorm in Saskatoon at Midnight" and you might get an A. Famous artists have sold blank white canvases for large amounts of money, which proves that confidence and a good title are worth more than paint. Your teacher, however, has seen this trick 200 times and will ask you to "talk about your process." You'll need to describe your emotions, the symbolism of the empty space and why you chose this particular shade of white. The correct answer is "it represents my homework."

179. Is "I don't know" a correct answer if it's true?

Honest, yes. Correct, no. Philosophers would give you partial credit; teachers won't. Socrates built an entire career on saying "I don't know," and they made him drink poison, so the system has always been tough on honesty. On a multiple-choice test, "I don't know" isn't one of the options, but "C" is, and statistically it's your best guess. On an essay, writing "I don't know" in 2,000 different ways is called a philosophy degree. Some teachers award a point for honesty. Most just write "see me" in red pen, which is the scariest phrase in the English language.

180. Why does the clock move slower during math class?

Math class bends time. It's the only proof of relativity most people will ever need. Einstein said time passes differently depending on your speed. He forgot to mention it also passes differently depending on whether you're doing fractions. Studies show that one minute of math class equals about 4.5 minutes of recess, while one minute of recess equals about 11 seconds. Scientists measured the classroom clock with atomic precision and found that it actually goes backward during long division. The solution is to bring snacks. Snacks speed up time by roughly 30%.

181. Can I name my science project "Volcano 2: The

Eruptioning"?

Yes, and you should. Every science fair needs a sequel. Volcano 1 was a modest baking-soda eruption. Volcano 2 is bigger, louder and has a dramatic subplot involving a toy dinosaur who must escape the lava. Plan a trilogy: "Volcano 3: Return of the Vinegar" and a prequel, "Volcano Zero: Rise of the Papier-Mâché." The judges have seen 3,000 volcanoes, so you need a twist. Add glitter, a soundtrack or a narrator. Do not use real lava, real fireworks or your little brother as an extra. That's how science fairs get cancelled.

182. If I sit in the front row, does the knowledge reach me

faster?

Slightly. You're closer to the board, but also closer to the teacher's eyes. It's a trade-off. Knowledge travels from the teacher's mouth at roughly the speed of sound, so front-row students get it about 0.02 seconds faster than those in the back. Unfortunately, front-row students also get hit by spit when the teacher gets passionate about photosynthesis. The back row is where knowledge goes to nap. The middle row is the safest place, a kind of educational witness protection where you can learn things without ever being called on. Pick your seat wisely.

183. Do teachers go home, or do they live in the supply

closet?

Most go home. Every school has one teacher who seems to live in the supply closet. Don't ask. Respect the closet. This teacher arrives before the janitor, leaves after the janitor and somehow always has a fresh cup of coffee and a spare glue stick. The supply closet contains construction paper, three broken staplers, a hot plate and possibly a small cot. Students who have peeked inside report seeing a calendar from 1998 and a framed photo of a laminator. Teachers are people too. Some of them just really like construction paper.

184. Is a library late fee a crime?

Marjorie says yes. Marjorie has a list. Marjorie never forgets. The list is kept in a card catalogue, handwritten, alphabetized and cross-referenced by how sorry you looked when you returned the book. Some names on it date back to 1987, including a man who borrowed "Gardening for Beginners" and returned it with a tomato pressed inside. Most libraries have eliminated late fees in recent years, which is kind and modern. Marjorie respects the decision. She still keeps the list. "For research," she says, while her eyes say "I know what you did."

185. Why do schools have bells?

So everyone moves at once, like a herd that's afraid of being late. The bell is the shepherd. Without bells, students would simply stay in their classrooms forever, slowly turning into furniture. The bell rings, and 800 people suddenly flood the hallways, pushing, shouting and crowding around lockers like geese around bread. Some schools use music instead of bells, which is nicer but confusing when it's the same three notes as a phone ringtone. Teachers have a famous saying: "The bell doesn't dismiss you, I do." The bell disagrees. The bell has always dismissed you.

186. If I learn a new word every day, when do I run out?

In roughly 1,300 years. By then someone will have invented a few more just to annoy you. At one word a day, you'd learn "aardvark" on day one and reach "zymurgy" sometime in the 34th century, by which point "zymurgy" will be slang for "cool." Most people use only about 20,000 words regularly, and half of them are "um." Words like "defenestration" (throwing someone out of a window) exist mostly to be learned and never used. Learn them anyway. Someday, at a party, you'll get to say "that's a defenestration risk," and everyone will think you're a genius.

187. Can I write my test answers in invisible ink for privacy?

You'll get 100 for privacy and 0 for the test. The teacher will hold your paper up to the light, sniff it, shake it and finally hand it to the science department, who will heat it with a lamp and discover the answer to question 4 is a drawing of a cat. Invisible ink is made from lemon juice, which means your test will also smell like a lemonade stand. Spies use invisible ink to keep secrets. Students use it to keep the secret that they didn't study. Both are eventually caught. Only one gets a medal.

188. What's the difference between a quiz and a test?

About 15 minutes and a lot of sweating. A quiz is a test's younger sibling: smaller, louder and more likely to show up unannounced (see question 170). A test is the older sibling who gives you a week's warning and still ruins your weekend. An exam is the parent, and a final exam is the grandparent who shows up at the end of the year and asks you everything you've ever learned. Midterms are the awkward cousins nobody invited. A quiz can be survived with luck. A test requires studying. An exam requires snacks, sleep and possibly prayer.

189. Why do I need to know when two trains leaving

different cities will meet?

So you can be the one calm person on the platform when they do. Everyone else will be screaming, but you'll be holding your notebook, saying "I calculated this would happen at 3:47 p.m." Math teachers have been sending trains toward each other for over a century, and somehow no conductor has ever been informed. The trains in math problems are always going 60 km/h and 80 km/h, never stop for snacks and never have delays, which is how you know they're imaginary. Real trains meet when they want to. They don't care about your homework.

190. Is a hall pass a passport?

It's a passport to the hallway, a small country with strict borders and very echoey shoes. Its laws are enforced by hall monitors, a citizen police force armed with clipboards and enormous power. The hall pass itself is often a large wooden block, a laminated card or, in some schools, a giant plastic fish, which nobody can lose and everybody can see. Travellers report stopping at the water fountain, wandering past the trophy case and taking the long route to the bathroom, a 4-minute journey stretched into 19. This is called a vacation.

191. Can I bring my mom to the exam as a calculator?

Moms are not an approved device. Also, she'll tell you to sit up straight, which doesn't help with algebra. Moms have been known to be faster than calculators at adding up grocery bills but slower at quadratic equations, because quadratic equations were invented after they stopped going to school and they refuse to learn them out of principle. She'll also ask the teacher if you've been eating enough, if your coat is warm enough and whether you've told them about your allergies. You'll want to disappear under the desk. You'll still get the answers wrong.

192. Is my school photo supposed to look like that?

Yes. Every school photo shows a confused person who was told to smile 0.3 seconds too late. It's tradition. The photographer says "say cheese," and you start to say "cheese," but the flash goes off on the "ch," so your face looks like you smelled a mystery. The background is always a blue cloud pattern that doesn't exist anywhere in nature. Your hair, which looked fine at home, will develop a single rebellious strand on photo day. Retake day exists, but the retake will look exactly the same, only now with a different shirt. These photos will be shown at your wedding.

193. If I get a gold star, can I sell it?

Gold stars aren't real gold. Their value is purely emotional, and emotionally, they're priceless. On the playground black market, though, one gold star is worth roughly two stickers, three erasers shaped like fruit or one good trading card. Silver stars are worth less and are often given out for "trying." The rarest of all is the hologram star, which shimmers in the light and can make a classroom go silent. Adults secretly miss gold stars. If you put one on a coworker's report, they'll pretend to be annoyed and then keep it for 10 years.

194. Why is it called lunch hour if it's 25 minutes?

Because "lunch quarter-hour-and-a-bit" sounded like a cry for help. Lunch hour in schools lasts as long as it takes to open a thermos, which is about 22 minutes. Then the bell rings, and you have to choose between finishing your sandwich and playing outside, the first truly difficult decision of childhood. Most kids eat half the sandwich in one bite and run. In offices, "lunch hour" is also not an hour; it's 30 minutes spent eating over a keyboard and answering an email with mayonnaise on your finger. The real lunch hour is a myth, like Atlantis.

195. Do erasers remember what they erased?

Every mistake. That's why they shrink: they carry the weight of all your errors. A brand-new eraser is full of hope. A month later, it's grey, small and tired, with the haunted look of someone who has removed too many wrong answers. Erasers on the ends of pencils have it worse: they're attached to the problem. Pink erasers are the bravest. White erasers are the most delicate. Kneaded erasers, used by artists, can be shaped like clay and become erasers in the form of tiny ducks, which is how they cope.

196. Can I object in class like a lawyer?

You can shout "Objection!" but your teacher is the judge, the jury and the person holding your grade. Overruled. You may be held in contempt, which in school means staying after class to wipe the whiteboard. A well-prepared student can try "I'd like to approach the bench," but the teacher's desk is not a bench, and approaching it without permission is how you end up doing dictionary work. Some teachers will let you make your case if you bring evidence, such as your homework, which you didn't do. The case is closed.

197. Is summer school just school with sunscreen?

Exactly. Same desks, but everyone stares out the window with real longing. Summer school is like regular school with the air conditioning broken and the sun mocking you through the glass. Students can hear an ice cream truck in the distance playing its song. Teachers also want to be outside, so everyone is united by suffering. The lessons are shorter, the classes smaller and the mood is part prison break, part summer camp. Some kids secretly enjoy it, because the school feels like a museum after hours, and the vending machine is always fully stocked.

198. If I fall asleep in class, did I attend?

Your body attended. Your brain was absent. Your drool was marked present. Falling asleep in class is a talent: the head drops, jerks back up, drops again, like a bobbing duck. Some sleepers wake with the imprint of a spiral notebook on their cheek, which is the closest they'll get to learning that day. Teachers deal with it in different ways. Some let you sleep. Some ask you a question directly, just to watch you panic. One legendary teacher in Grande Prairie dropped a dictionary on the desk next to every sleeper, which is why the whole town is now extremely alert.

199. Why is the last day of school always a half day?

Because nobody can concentrate on the last day, especially the teachers. They're already mentally on a beach. The last day is mostly signing yearbooks, cleaning out lockers and finding a banana you lost in October, now a fossil. Some classes watch a movie, but the movie always has to be educational, so it's a documentary about the water cycle that nobody listens to. When the final bell rings, the hallway explodes with joy. Teachers smile and wave, then go to the lounge and lie on the floor in silence. That's their summer kickoff ceremony.

200. Can I graduate from being a student?

Yes, and then you become an adult who still dreams about forgetting a test. Nobody ever fully graduates. In the dream you're 42, you have a mortgage and suddenly realize you've been enrolled in a chemistry class all year and never went once. The exam is today. You don't know where the room is. Your locker combination is gone. You wake up sweating and remember you're a dentist. Scientists say this dream is extremely common, and Marjorie says she still has it, even though she has never been a student and was born a librarian.