I gave a statistics exam today.
I didn't know SHIT.
I swear. I actually thought I’d gotten the wrong question paper when I first looked at it. I was about to ask the invigilator for the correct one when I noticed the paper number written on the top right corner of the sheet.
I took a deep breath and started scanning the questions.
Anne has a fair sided dice. She rolls it six times. Find the probability that she suffers from constipation on Saturdays only.
What? That is what it looked like to me okay. O___o
I carefully measured a space the width of four fingers on the answer paper, and left it blank. Maybe later God would send me the answers.
Questions 2 and three were skipped in a similar fashion.
By the time I reached question four and had gone through it, all I could think was
Question four was something about different colored flowering heads, or something. Flowers that were flowering. Heads with flowers shooting out of the ears. Whatever.
Anyway, the question regarded probability. (Yes, I know how to identify questions now. Whoop-dee-doo,) I did NOT get it. How the HELL would it help me in real life if I knew what conditional probability is? And that too regarding heads that flower. It won't. It won't it won't it won't.
I scribbled some incoherent looking jumble of numbers down. It didn't make sense to me. Maybe, by some odd chance, it would be right and I’d get three marks for my effort.
The next question was basic stats. Draw up a table; make a histogram. Easy as pie. I think I did that right. If not, then, well, LAANAT.
The last question was no better. Permutations and combinations. I always go crazy with those. I did the best I could, really I did.
There were children outside and they were running around and screaming and I wanted to scream too. The kids sitting around me were asking for extra sheets.
What were they writing, flipping essays?
'Sheet' said one
'Sheet' said another. That’s what they were all saying. Sheet sheet sheet everywhere. And all I could think of was, yeah that’s right, sheet. BULL sheeet.
I had scribbled all over the question paper. Little sad looking men, flying cows and something that looked like a dog with a shoe on its head. There were also a number of oaths directed at the questions.
I hated this.
The girl next to me had a pocketful of imli flavored candy and she was sucking on them one by one. Loudly.
I stared blankly at the white toes of my trainers. I’d memorized every scratch there by now.
The invigilator, who also happens to be my stats teacher, wasn't letting me go. She hates me, that woman. She does. She thinks I’m a stupid noob with a Neanderthal brain who doesn't know shit. She shot me a glare every time I even shifted. It was torturous.
I kept staring at my answer sheet, two pages of which were completely blank, save for the question number.
The boy sitting in front of me was feverishly scribbling away on his paper, as if his life depended on it. I eyed him with interest. I had never noticed him in school before. He had two calculators. I sighed. When he caught me looking, he actually covered up his paper with his arm. I rolled my eyes at him.
When we were finally allowed to leave, I was the first one to get out.
If all goes well, I’ll get eleven. Out of fifty. I sure aim high, don’t I?