In Which an Idea Comes to Me in a Dream

The entire Honors program got together for a schmancy dinner in which the graduating class was honored. The director of the program invited all the seniors to share some inspirational words with the younger classes aka tell a funny story that preferably embarrasses one of the professors.

This is the tale I told:

During my second semester of Honors, I was in a class team-taught by Scariest Professor and Most Laid-Back Professor. We had to turn in short papers every two weeks or so.

No matter what I did, I could not write a paper that both professors liked. Yet I persevered doggedly, trying one paper after another. I had this idea that once I wrote one paper they both liked, I could deconstruct that paper and then replicate my success.

Except, sadly, there was no success to replicate. I tried everything I could think of, but 'twas all to no avail.

Towards the end of the semester, we read this utterly bizarre book called The Master and Margarita. Utterly. Bizarre. I liked it, but I had no idea what to say about. Add to that the fact that I had not written a successful paper the whole semester, and it was a recipe for utter bemusement.

I pondered, and I pondered, but I had no luck.

Then, one night, I had a dream about the text. When I woke up I thought to myself, "Well, since I have no better ideas..." and proceeded to write a paper about this idea that had come to me in a dream.

I wrote the paper. I turned it in, and I waited. And as I waited, I was hit the horrifying realization of what I had done.

When the two copies of my paper were handed back to me, 'twas with leaden fingers I received them. It's bad to know you've failed; it's worse to see two copies scrawled with comments noting the exact degree to which you've failed.

Finally, though, I looked over the copies and read the comments on my paper.

Both Scariest Professor and Most Laid-Back Professor had loved it.

At first I was elated. And then I realized, "Oh.

"I can't replicate this."