Professor Cranston was tough. He was so old that the history he taught was current events when he was just a toddler. The technologically savvy members of the class had spent untold hours looking for some way to peg his age. There was even a running pool in the class supplemented each week of the semester no one successfully guessed his age. If no one could figure it out by the end of the class today the six hundred dollar pot would be disbursed back to its origins
For the eighth time this semester the class was back where Cranston’s ancestors wagon still sat, mired in mud. The wagon looked authentic, so the class believed him when he said it was. Everyone’s eyes glassed over as Cranston ended the last class with this lecture.
Then he smiled broadly as he reached under the wagon and retrieved an envelope. From within he retrieved a yellowed document. He turned the document to his class and let them see the words Birth Certificate.
“Thank you so much for the $600 contribution to my retirement fund!”