For weeks, Jamie had worked on the final essay—drafting, editing, second-guessing every word.
When he finally submitted it, Jamie felt a flicker of pride. Three days later, he got the paper back with a single note scribbled in red ink across the top: “Needs Improvement.”
No comments. No suggestions. Just that. Cold. Brutal.
Confused, a little crushed, Jamie rewrote the entire essay. He restructured his arguments, added clearer transitions, changed the conclusion. He even checked the punctuation with a grammar plugin he didn’t fully trust. Then, he submitted it again.
Two days later—same result. “Needs Improvement.”
This time, frustration flared. Jamie spent a full weekend reworking it line by line. He buried himself in the library, pulled academic references from obscure journals, refined every sentence like it was a poem. He didn’t just improve the essay—he transformed it. Font. Format. Flow. Everything.
When he printed the final version, it looked like something that should be framed.
Jamie marched into professor’s office and placed it firmly on the desk.
“This is it,” he said, almost breathless. “I have read it twenty times. Cross-checked every source. Triple-proofed every paragraph. This is the best I’ve ever written—possibly the best I can write. If this still needs improvement, I’m not sure what else to give.”
The professor looked up from a pile of papers, raised an eyebrow, and slowly took the essay.
He nodded once.
“Alright,” he said calmly, “I guess I’ll actually read it this time.”
A teacher was giving a lesson on the circulation of the blood.
Trying to make the matter clearer, he said:
“Now, students, if I stood on my head the blood, as you know, would run into it, and I should turn red in the face.”
“Yes, sir,” the boys said.
“Then why is it that while I am standing upright in the ordinary position the blood doesn’t run into my feet?”
A little fellow shouted, “‘It’s because your feet ain’t empty.”
The teacher of the earth science class was lecturing on map reading.
After explaining about latitude, longitude, degrees, and minutes, the teacher asked,
“Suppose I asked you to meet me for lunch at 23 degrees, four minutes north latitude and 45 degrees, 15 minutes east longitude?”
After a confused silence, a voice volunteered, “I guess you’d be eating alone.”
