At Cambridge University, a bright young student showed up for the exam and asked the proctor to bring him cakes and ale.
Proctor: I beg your pardon?
Student: Sir, I request that you bring me cakes and ale.
Proctor: Sorry, no.
Student: Sir, I really must insist. I request and require that you bring me cakes and ale.
At this point, the student produced a copy of the four hundred-year-old Laws of Cambridge, written in Latin and still nominally in effect, and pointed to the section that read (roughly translated): "Gentlemen sitting in examinations may request and require cakes and ale."
Pepsi and hamburgers were judged the modern equivalent, and the student sat there, writing his examination and happily eating and slurping away.
Three weeks later, the student was fined five pounds for not wearing a sword to the examination.
Hanging in the hallway at a high school are the basketball team pictures from the past decades. A player in the center of the front row in each picture holds a basketball identifying the year -- "92-93," "93-94," "94-95," etc.
One day the principal spotted a freshman looking curiously at the photos. Turning to the principal, he said, "Isn't it strange how the teams always lost by one point?"
The 104-year-old building that had served as the priory and primary student residence of the small Catholic university where I work was about to be demolished. As the wrecker’s ball began to strike, I sensed the anxiety and sadness experienced by one of the older monks whose order had founded the college.
"This must be difficult to watch, Father," I said. "The tradition associated with that building, the memories of all the students and monks who lived and worked there. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you."
"It’s worse than that," the monk replied. "I think I left my Palm Pilot in there."