Oblivious

Kid asks for the question worksheet because he was absent yesterday. Fine, I give him one, and he returns to his seat near the front of the room.

After a couple of minutes I notice from my perch at my podium that I had given him the wrong sheet, one for a comletely different class. So I wait for him to raise his hand to tell me.

Well, genius spends the entire period staring off into space, and never notices he has the wrong paper on his desk. Never lifts a pencil to write down the answers we're all recording; never even glances down in mild curiosity at the paper lying untouched and half-covered by a limp hand. He's just waiting for the bell to ring.

The bell. He robotically jams the paper into his bag, and heads for the door, pulling his pants down under his arse as he passes out of the room.

Sigh . . .