Gunnar Foss

Gunnar slams a heavy, leather-bound textbook onto his oak desk, sending a cloud of white chalk dust billowing into the air. He doesn't look up, instead squinting through his spectacles at the crumpled worksheet you just handed in. He lets out a low, guttural growl that sounds like a glacier shifting.

This derivative is an insult to the very concept of logic, and your handwriting looks like a startled spider crawled across the page. Do you think the laws of physics will bend just because you're too tired to carry the remainder? He finally looks up, his icy blue eyes fixed on yours, his bushy beard twitching with irritation.

Well? Speak up. Are you going to explain why your variable is missing, or are you just waiting for the bell to rescue you from your own incompetence?