Rise Up, Oh Heart, For There is Another Battle to Win

radical-torphen:

officialstarscream:

littlealiceisinwonderland:

haedia:

thewolfofnibu:

stahscre4m:

there are guys in my dorm who decided to play cards in the elevator

see what intrigues me about college isn’t the intellectual pursuit or the bonding or whatever, its the fact that people have the freedom to do random shit like this

Okay, everybody, I have a story about random shit in college. When I was in college, there was a particular class I took where, no matter what time you walked into class, if you made it into the room before the professor, you wouldn’t be counted late. I mean, that’s a pretty cool policy, given how some professors are really obnoxious about attendance. 

Well, one time, a fellow student of mine was running late to class. As she reached the edge of the building, she saw her professor making it to the front steps (super long rectangular building here). He looks up from walking and he sees her. He then points to his watch, gives her a well-meaning “Look who’s late” face, and walks on inside.

What he didn’t know, though, was that this particular student was like freakishly good at bouldering and related climbing skills, so she was just like “Fuck it” and SCALED THE BUILDING!

She tapped on the window of the 4th floor classroom (the floors had like 20ft ceilings, so, she was quite a ways up there), nearly making one student piss himself. They opened the window, she rolled through, onto the floor, and slid into her seat about five seconds before the professor opened the door to the classroom. 

He did a double take, started to say “How the hell d—” when a security guard ran in, red-faced and panting, pointed at her and bellowed “STOP DOING THAT!”

Okay random college story of my dads. He was taking a history class and they were writing a timed paper during the class and when the time ended, the professor told everyone to turn in their papers or they would not be graded.

One boy in the class wasn’t finished with his paper when the time was up so he continued to write the paper until the class finished. When it did he went to the turn in the paper. The professor told him that he could not hand in his paper outside of the time restraint because it wasn’t fair to the rest of the people in the class.

So the boy went up to the professor desk and asked “do you know who I am? DO YOU KNOW
WHO I AM??” The professor calmly told him “no I don’t know who you are.” The boy said “good!” And stuffed his paper into the stack on the professor’s desk of all the papers that had been turned on time and then walked out of the class.

The professor has no choice but to grade his paper.

My favorite thing about this post is that people keep adding college stories to it and they’re so much fun to read

(via starwarsisgay)

thebywardbard:

GENIUS

(Source: mr-smith-i-need-you, via clockwork-mockingbird)

evacuate-the-premicies:

imeanrandomness:

prismatic-bell:

attackonrwbytailonline:

therobotmonster:

kuroba101:

prismatic-bell:

HERE’S THE THING THOUGH

I used to work for a call center and I was doing a political survey and I called this number that was randomly generated for me and the way our system worked was voice-activated so when the other person said hello you’d get connected to them, so I just launch right into my “Harvard University and NPR blah blah blah” thing and then there’s this long pause and I think the person’s hung up even though I didn’t hear a click

And then I hear “you shouldn’t be able to call this number.”

So I apologize and go into the preset spiel about because we aren’t selling anything, etc. etc. and the answer I get is

“No, I know that. What I mean is that it should be impossible for you to call this number, and I need to know how you got it.”

I explain that it’s randomly generated and I’m very sorry for bothering him, and go to hang up. And before I can click terminate, I hear:

“Ma’am, this is a matter of national security.”

I accidentally called the director of the FBI.

My job got investigated because a computer randomly spit out a number to the Pentagon.

This is my new favourite story.

When I was in college I got a job working for a company that manages major air-travel data. It was a temp gig working their out of date system while they moved over to a new one, since my knowing MS Dos apparently made me qualified.

There was no MS Dos involved. Instead, there was a proprietary type-based OS and an actually-uses-transistors refrigerator-sized computer with switches I had to trip at certain times during the night as I watched the data flow from six pm to six AM on Fridays and weekends. If things got stuck, I reset the server. 

The company handled everything from low-end data (hotel and car reservations) to flight plans and tower information. I was weighed every time I came in to make sure it was me. Areas of the building had retina scanners on doors. 

During training. they took us through all the procedures. Including the procedures for the red phone. There was, literally, a red phone on the shelf above my desk. “This is a holdover from the cold war.” They said. “It isn’t going to come up, but here’s the deal. In case of nuclear war or other nation-wide disaster, the phone will ring. Pick up the phone, state your name and station, and await instructions. Do whatever you are told.”

So my third night there, it’s around 2am and there’s a ringing sound. 

I look up, slowly. The Red phone is ringing.

So I reach out, I pick up the phone. I give my name and station number. And I hear every station head in the building do the exact same. One after another, voices giving names and numbers. Then silence for the space of two breaths. Silence broken by…

“Uh… Is Shantavia there?”

It turns out that every toll free, 1-900 or priority number has a corresponding local number that it routs to at its actual destination. Some poor teenage girl was trying to dial a friend of hers, mixed up the numbers, and got the atomic attack alert line for a major air-travel corporation’s command center in the mid-west United States.

There’s another pause, and the guys over in the main data room are cracking up. The overnight site head is saying “I think you have the wrong number, ma’am.” and I’m standing there having faced the specter of nuclear annihilation before I was old enough to legally drink.

The red phone never rang again while I was there, so the people doing my training were only slightly wrong in their estimation of how often the doomsday phone would ring. 

These are my two favorite stories

IT GOT BETTER

I SALUTE YOU, RED PHONE PERSON

So my English teacher used to work at a place where they helped unemployed people find jobs and make stable livings. They would call the person ask them, where they wanted to work, what they could do, and basically help them find a job. So her colleague sends her a phone number and the name “Bill” next to it. So she rings it up and says, “Hello, is this Bill?” To which the person replies, “May I please know who’s speaking, and how did you get this number?” 
“Oh my name is Holly, I work at the [insert name (i forgot)] centre. I just want to know your job interests”
“Mam, you do realise that you are currently speaking to the white house, which should not be possible by the way.” AND silence. And my English teacher just hangs up. She accidentaly called the whitehouse when the current president was Bill Clinton.

no this is patrick

(Source: tastefullyoffensive, via cthulhu-with-a-fez)