"I have a question," a student in the science class I was subbing for yesterday remarked. "If I put a slice of bread on the ground here, and someone else put one on the ground exactly on the other side of the earth, would that make our planet a sandwich?"
I raised my eyebrows at what seemed like his obvious attempt to avoid the worksheet he was doing on the planets, but before I could comment, another student raised his hand.
"I have some thoughts," he said, "about what constitutes a sandwich."
Intrigued, the first student and I both nodded, inviting him to continue.
"I would say you have to at least have a two-thirds ratio of filling to bread, and even that is pretty stuffed." He paused for our reaction to his theory.
"That seems right," I agreed. "So the answer to the question is no."
"What if we had an enormous piece of bread?" The first kid wouldn't give up. "And we placed it, say, over New York City." He shrugged as if it were obvious why he would want to cover the Big Apple with bread. "And then put the other piece wherever is opposite."
"That's probably an ocean," observed the second student. "Which would make the bread very soggy."
"As fascinating as this is," I interrupted, only half ironically, "it really isn't relevant to the work you're supposed to be doing."
Student one sighed. Student two nodded in prudent agreement. Both returned to their worksheet.
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