Mrs. Parks, a 6th-grade teacher with a penchant for the dramatic, announced a pop quiz. The class groaned, a symphony of teenage displeasure. “This quiz,” she declared, holding aloft a single sheet of paper, “will determine your fate! Your future! Your… understanding of ancient Roman plumbing!”
Little Timmy, notorious for his daydreaming, slumped in his seat. He’d spent the lesson admiring a particularly interesting crumb on his desk. He glanced at the quiz. One question: “Draw a diagram of a Roman latrine, including key components.”
Timmy stared blankly. He’d pictured gladiators and chariots, not toilets. He scribbled a wobbly circle, added a stick figure sitting precariously on top, and labeled it “Roman Potty.” He then drew a lightning bolt striking the stick figure, adding, “Because, uh… gods?”
Next to him, shy Sarah, a model student, meticulously drew a detailed diagram complete with intricate pipes and labels in Latin. She’d even researched different types of Roman latrine designs the night before.
The quiz was collected. A week later, Mrs. Parks announced the results with a flourish. “Sarah, your knowledge of Roman sanitation is truly impressive! An A+!” She paused dramatically, her eyes twinkling. “Timmy… your artistic interpretation of a ‘divine intervention’ during Roman toilet usage… well, that’s a unique perspective. I’m giving you an A for effort, and a strongly worded suggestion to perhaps pay more attention in class. But, I’ve also forwarded your drawing to the local history museum – they’re thinking of making it their new logo!”
