I took my last final of the semester last night. Let's just say it was sort of painful. Physically painful. Last week our teacher told us to bring lined paper and a writing utensil for the test. This week our instructions were to "write down everything you can remember". An hour and 5 pages later, I walked out of there with my hand rather deformed and useless. But I was finished and I was happy, my second semester of graduate school being over.
As we had to scan and email our test to our teacher in Logan, I was told to cut the edges off my papers where I had torn them out of my notebook. I went to the facilitator's office for a pair of scissors and then walked 10 feet down the hall to the garbage can. I quickly cut off the offensive edges and went to return the scissors. Just as I got to the office door, our facilitator Mike walked out. Noticing that the scissors were still in my hand in cutting position, I shrieked when we almost collided.
"Ah!" I said. "I almost impaled you!"
Mike was cool and didn't hold a grudge against me for almost stabbing him. The girl in the office, however, burst out laughing. She thought the word 'impaled' the funniest she had ever heard.
Yes, I am in graduate school. And yes, I use words like 'impaled'. So, how could I forget the first rule of scissor-handling? I should know better; it's not like kindergarten was that long ago.
Afterwards we all went out for hamburgers and milkshakes. Thank heavens I can still count change.