5 Hilariously Ridiculous Standardized Test Questions

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Full disclosure: None of these questions are from actual standardized tests (SATs, ACTs, PSATs, PACTs, SPACTs, etc.) as sharing test questions from administered and unreleased tests is punishable by a fine of $250,000 and a six-month minimum sentence in Guantanamo Bay. Thus, all the questions that appear below are instead from published test-prep books sold by various test-prep companies, modified slightly (changed names, etc).

Standardized testing is a charged topic. People as high-ranking as the Department of Education’s (DoE) assistant undersecretary to the undersecretary’s assistant (AUUA) regularly examine topics such as: do standardized tests cost too much? Are they truly standardized? Do they cover proper material? Do they make me look fat? Is their sodium content too high? Are the Russians using them to corrupt our youth? Are our youth already corrupted beyond hope? If so, are the standardized tests corrupt enough for our youth?

As you probably know, I wake up every day thinking about things not even closely related to the important questions I just mentioned. Thus, I am quite qualified to weigh in on these contentious concepts, as illustrated by the fact that I just used some spiffy and awesome alliteration. (Frankly, if you can alliterate or, better yet, are an alliteration, you are instantly seen as a leader. For example: Ronald Reagan, Woodrow Wilson, Peter Piper (the pickled peppers picker), Winston Wchurchill, Steve Sjobs, John Jf Jkennedy, etc.).

But since the standardized test debate encompasses a plethora (hey, SAT word) of topics, and we could analyze each topic for many blog posts worth of time, let’s take just one of these ideas: Do they cover proper material? More specifically, do standardized test questions actually cover stuff (another SAT word) that might come up in the real world?

Maybe some questions do. I’m sure a strong argument can be made for knowing things like the x-y formula for a circle. (The strong counter argument is, of course, Google). But sometimes test question writers get a little carried away, because they know you have to take the test regardless of whether the passage’s main character’s name is Mary Ann or Djickovanitchstrewloquesky. And when they get ahead of themselves, you end up with questions like these.

George, the Media Intern

The question is:

14. George works as a media intern and receives a monthly paycheck. He spends 25% of his paycheck on rent and deposits the remainder into a savings account. If his deposit is $3,750, how much does he receive as his monthly pay?

a) $4,000
b) $5,000
c) $5,500
d) $5,750
e) $6,000

Let’s take this step-by-step. First of all, George is a media intern. Interns don’t get paid, according to “that’s how real life works.” Interns are just below the water cooler on the office totem pole. If one of them failed to show up for the day, the cooler would be missed much more. In other words, until the water cooler gets an employer-provided health insurance package and monthly stipend, the intern isn’t getting paid either.

But let’s assume, for a second, that interns do get paid. Perhaps they do, in some places; maybe Luxembourg, the richest country (per capita, which means not as rich overall as the US of A!) pays the five media interns that essentially run the single national news organization for the 500,000-person company. They probably don’t even have a news station, just a stock ticker, but, if they did, they could afford to pay the interns (the national motto is: Luxembourg: even the name sounds luxurious). Would an intern really spend 25% of their paycheck on rent, and then put the rest into a savings account?

In case you have any doubts as to where that rhetorical question is going, the answer is NO. No, because most media interns are not yet old enough to realize the benefits of saving 75% of their paycheck. No, because interns have other expenses than rent—they probably need food, transportation, and, depending on how they’re treated at the office, therapy. No, because interns will invariably have trillions (per capita) in student debt to pay off.

Now, I connect to the writer of this question. I know what he meant to ask: 75% of what number is $3,750?

But did they really need to make up a whole story about a fictional place with a fictional intern who gets a fictional paycheck to pay his fictional rent? All that does is distract me from the math and cause me to ponder just how removed from reality test-question-writers are. This is a ridiculous question.

Andrea, the Graphing Freak

Here’s a math question more off-the-charts than Anthony Wiener:

38. Andrea decides to graph her office and the nearest coffee shop in the standard (x,y) plane. If her office is at point (-1,-5) and the coffee shop is at point (3,3), what are the coordinates of the point exactly halfway between those of her office and the shop? (You may assume Andrea is able to walk a straight line between.)

A) (1,-1)
B) (1,5)
C) (2,-1)
D) (3,4)
E) (2,0)

Andrea—I don’t even know where to begin. This question has major believability issues.

To start with, “Andrea decides to graph her office and the nearest coffee shop in the standard (x,y) plane.” What kind of job does Andrea have that graphing her office and nearby café sounds appealing? The only job I can come up with is that of media intern, in which case, Andrea doesn’t have any money for coffee, since she either doesn’t get paid or saved all of her paycheck (she doesn’t even need to pay rent, she just rooms with George). Actually, ignore the job; what kind of person—a coffee-deprived one, no less—gets directions by using coordinate graphs? That’s so 16th century!

And where is Andrea’s boss? I mean, wouldn’t he/she notice if Andrea suddenly stopped answering the customer service phones and pulled out a ruler and graph paper? Am I supposed to believe the boss encourages this sort of thing as stress relief or a team-building activity?

Getting past the fact that Andrea is graphing her office and the nearest coffee shop, why doesn’t Andrea make her life easier by putting either the coffee shop or her office at (0,0)? I mean, I’m not the type of person to plot the location of my house and my school, but if I was, I like to think that I’d make it as easy as possible to do by putting one of the points at the origin. What is up with Andrea? The only thing I can think of is that her office address is literally the corner of -1 Street and -5 Avenue.

Finally (ignoring the fact that Andrea, for some inexplicable reason, wants to know how far the halfway point is), I “may assume Andrea is able to walk a straight line between”? I don’t think so; no, I don’t think I can assume that. So, Andrea can just walk through walls. What kind of “skill” am I really learning by taking this test—the fact that I shouldn’t bother to cross streets at the cross walk, but just walk a straight line between?

Please, test writers, I beg of you: don’t do this. Just ask “what is the midpoint of the segment from (-1,-5) to (3,3)?” Sure, your added explanation may be hilarious in retrospect, but during the test we’re just going to be stressed and annoyed. This question is ludicrous.

The Unethical Senator

Speaking of Anthony Wiener:

3. Although the senator has been involved in unethical behavior, her constituents continue to show strong support for her.

A) has been involved
B) involved
C) being as involved
D) has yet to be involved
E) is involving

Hopefully, you’ve figured out what’s wrong with this one: the “unethical” senator is a woman. According to the Wikipedia list of political scandals in the US (which is, by no means, the most reliable source, but—let’s face it—the only source any of us would take the time to quickly scan for the sake of a humor blog post) the last “sort-of” political scandal that befell a female was Representative Helen Chenoweth-Hage, back in 1998. Putting that in perspective, that’s about 1 female scandal for every 5,000 male scandals (I didn’t even need to go to Wikipedia to make that up, I just pulled that number from George’s salary). And—it gets better—it wasn’t even really a scandal: she just admitted that she’d had an affair before running for Congress.

Therefore, while the correct answer might be “A,” the best answer is “D.” Sure, technically the “although” wouldn’t make any sense, but what’s more important: getting the facts right or lying with proper grammar?

Winning the Race

The question:

26. Regardless of which person wins the race, they will have earned the victory. No Error

I think we’ve just discovered why doping is so prevalent in sports. Most college-recruited athletes have to take the SAT or ACT. So, is it really their fault that they don’t know any better than to fill their muscles full of unnaturally occurring chemicals*?

*That probably come with warning labels such as: “WARNING: Do not swallow. This compound is illegal in 49 states and unlawful to possess in the remaining 1. If you were to use this, it might allow you to beat all the competition, but you shouldn’t use this for some reason. Okay, the FDA has stopped reading by now—go ahead, take twice a day with food.”

According to this question, as long as they win, they will have earned that win, gosh darn it. No wonder Lance Armstrong was so indignant when his scandal broke—he should have just entered this as evidence in his hearing and he would have gone from intentionally doping to the much less evil charge of easy to influence.

If we’re going to make kids take these tests, let’s at least make the error the part about “earning” the victory. We should scrap most the second part of the sentence and make it, “Regardless of which person wins the race, he will have won.” I think that’s obvious enough for your stereotypical jock. Sure, they’ll still use steroids, but at least they won’t be so indignant about the consequences, since they’ll know they didn’t earn those titles.

Laura and Ben

We’ll end it with an easy one:

15. Laura wanted to go out to the movies that night, and so her friend Ben wanted to stay home and study. No Error

I’m sure that by now you’ve already figured out the numerous errors. First of all, when a girl asks you to go to the movies, you don’t say, “Nahh, I’d rather stay home and study.”

If you do that, you will probably never get asked to the movies for the rest of your high school life. And, if she tweets about it, you can prepare to remain a bachelor for at least ten years past the date of your death. The only time you’re allowed to reply this way is if the girl has been involved in unethical behavior, uses steroids, or wants to plot the coordinates of the location of your seats in regards to the movie screen.

Secondly, nobody wants to just “study.” Yes, the pursuit of knowledge is noble, but the writer doesn’t elaborate. Ben isn’t studying something he’s incredibly interested in or motivated to teach himself, nor does Ben have a big test tomorrow. Thus, although there are exceptions when one should study rather than go to the movies, this doesn’t appear to be one of them.

The third issue here is the sentence is in past tense. Somehow, in some fictitious world, even after Ben turned down Laura so he could study, they are still friends. To correct this, the writer should have written “ex-friend,” “used-to-be friend,” or “…her friend Ben, who’s now at the bottom of the lake (weighed down by the biology textbook tied to his feet), wanted…”

The Message

Standardized tests are an unavoidable part of high school, but that doesn’t mean the questions need to be based in worlds more fictitious than Miley Cyrus’ good judgment. For some reason, I just don’t think most people go into the testing rooms relaxed and ready to be entertained. Besides, if you do laugh while the test is being administered, that’s punishable by a $5,000 fine, a felony charge, and being forced to eat your #2 pencils.

But if you’re more worried about buying #2 pencils than eating them, you may want to check out, “3 Reasons Back to School Shopping is Not Your Friend,”published this time last year. Even if you don’t care about shopping, the image on that post is worth checking out.

Creating A Better AP Test (Part 2): the Proctor’s Dialogue

This is part two of our brief set of posts on how the AP test system could be improved. If you haven’t read the first part yet (about fixing the FRQs), I’d suggest you read that first.

The FRQ section might be bad, but at least it doesn’t come until the end of the test. First comes the half-hour of bubbling, but, worse even than that, comes the required speech.

Now I understand that being an AP test proctor isn’t the most glamorous of jobs. It’s probably somewhere right between “Garbage Collector” and “Speaker of the House.” I don’t expect the proctor to be as happy as an NFL cheerleader, nor as excited as a local news crew that just received some “BREAKING NEWS” about who stole the cookies from the cookie jar (probably the Free Syrian Army).

But when the speech that the proctor must give is about as depressing as running out of gum on a Thursday morning, it doesn’t help things.

For those not familiar with the speech, it goes something like this. Obviously, this dialogue is paraphrased, because possession of any official CollegeBoard document outside of the testing room is an international violation of human rights:

(For re-creation purposes, read this in the voice of that slimy green secretary from “Monsters, Inc.” if possible.)

“Turn to page one on your answer booklet. Do not open your official test packet yet. Take an AP Number Label* and place it in the blue box on your answer booklet where it says ‘Place AP Number Label Here.’ Move on to section A. It says to read the statement. Read the statement. Then sign your name and date. Do not open your official test packet yet. Move on to section B. It says to write the school code. Write the school code. The school code is behind me on the board. Move on to section C. Since you likely can’t read, it says to fill in your name. Fill in your name. Move on to section D. It says to fill in the test start time. You buffoons probably can’t tell time either so I’ll tell you that the test will begin at 8 AM. Do not open your official test packet yet. Move on to section F…”

*to be addressed later. I promise.

By section “J,” you’re usually suppressing a scream that’s a combination of your frustration at being treated like a baby and your hyper-ness from drinking eight coffees that morning.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. No, I suggest we re-write the proctor’s required dialogue to be a cheerful song. Sure, this might somehow aid in cheating on the AP music theory exam, but otherwise it’s a brilliant idea:

(To be sung to the tune of “A Yellow Submarine,” since it’s a song you should know.)

“On page one, your answer sheet
Place a label, nice and neat
Now move on, to section A
Read the statement, sign name and day
Next please shift, to section B
Write the school code, that’s behind me
Then segue, to section C
Fill your name in, then go to D

Make sure that you don’t open your test book
Don’t open your test book, don’t open your test book (x2)…”

Overall, I think stress levels would go down, happiness would go up, and someone would make a killing on the royalty payments. For an extra five dollars an hour, the proctor could even play the guitar while singing. Heck, you’d make the kids not taking the AP test jealous of the party going on inside.

Now we’ve fixed the proctor’s dialogue and the FRQ system, but the atmosphere of AP tests still leaves much to be desired. And you know what that means–we’ll be back tomorrow with a brilliant solution. (Update: you can catch the third part here.)

The 3 Awful Types of Science Lab Questions

ScienceLabFunnyOf all of your school classes, science is perhaps the most unusual. And when I say unusual, I’m not talking about the fact that your science teacher lives in an environmentally conscious aluminum foil teepee and bikes to work, nor the fact that it’s the only class where you don’t fail if your lab sheet “burned up in a fire.”

No, what’s most unusual about science class is the fact that half of the class consists of “Labs.”

Now, maybe you don’t think that labs are all that unusual. But think about it for a second.

I mean, what if you had a lab in history class? “Okay, guys, we’re gonna go to the back of the room and drop a bunch of multi-ethnic nationalistic mice in the plexiglass box to simulate the Serbian ‘powder-keg’ of Europe. Make sure you keep your safety goggles on the whole time.”

Or, how about a lab in English class? Step 1: add five metaphors or similes to your first paragraph. Step 2: Add a personification to the best metaphor or simile. Step 3: Analyze the result; what does it mean if the clouds were “like angry opossums instagramming pictures of gas prices and breakfast foods?”

Now do you think labs are pretty unusual? At least they just expect you to memorize the already-proven laws in math class. With labs, you’re expected to prove theories that have already been formulated and then memorize them.

But the worst part of labs is not that they might be pointless, because if you’re burning and exploding things at least you’re not falling asleep in class (hopefully). No, the worst part of labs is their somewhat awkward procedures and their unfocused, predictable questions.

And these analysis questions can seem unanswerable.

The Simple Questions

Some lab questions are incredibly obvious. For example, “What happened when you held the ice cube over the Bunsen burner?”

Well, I know what you’re thinking: it melted. Duh. Which is close enough to what your average teenager might think, at first.

But in class, the thought process looks more like this: it melted. Duh…duh, right? Uhhh, hello? Duh? Uh…that’s too obvious “Hey, guys, look at #1. You put that it melted, right?” “Well, yeah, I think so, but no duh. We could have done that without doing the lab. There must be something else that missed.” “Yeah, okay, I figured.” Hmmm…well, I’ll just say that it melted in a blue flash and then some purple smoke appeared…in the shape of the ice cube…yeah. That’s probably what the right answer is.

Sure, you laugh now, but why would anybody ask—on a science lab sheet that is intended for teenagers who may not be smart, but certainly aren’t clueless—what happens when you put AN ICE CUBE ABOVE A FLAME? You’d only ask it if the answer wasn’t obvious, right?

Well, that rule applies for most classes, but not in science class. Recall the purpose of science labs: to demonstrate things we already know. Thus, the simple questions are really that simple. Unfortunately, it takes most of us two years to figure that out, leading to some hilarious, albeit incorrect, answers.

The Difficult Questions

When a question isn’t obvious, and doesn’t become apparent in the lab, that’s probably because it is a poorly written question. After all, many science teachers focused on science, and not English, in high school. Of course, scrawling out, “This is a poorly written question and I’m not going to answer it because I don’t know ‘What happened when you brought the copper rod near the beaker and the solution and the beaker rod react solution to bubbles rod the?’” is not usually an acceptable answer, even if it is the correct one.

So, again, this ties into the idea that labs are to demonstrate, not to discover, scientific properties. If you can figure out the property being demonstrated, you can usually write something that makes a bit of sense.

But since that involves thinking, I suggest that you simply repeat as much as the question as possible, while throwing in a yes/no answer. For instance, you might end up with: “Yes, the rod, when brought near the beaker and the solution and the beaker rod, react solution to bubbles rod the.”

The Worst Question

It’s on every lab. The answer constantly changes. It’s perhaps the most difficult question on the entire lab. Most other people won’t have any idea. What is it? Simply: “What is the date?”

Actually, just kidding. While figuring out the date is usually pretty tough, you can always just guess, as most teachers won’t grade you down for putting the “54th of June, 1410.”

No, the actual worst question is: “What are some possible sources of error in this lab?”

This question can only end badly. You can blame yourself, and make it look like you’re incompetent: “Well, I dropped some of the uranium and it made a small, smoking crater in the wire, but at least the ammeter was unharmed.” If your teacher sees that, you’ll definitely be marked down for not being careful.

At the same time, you can’t blame your teacher or school: “The major problems came from the equipment, which was made in 1922. After the measuring needle on the voltmeter crumbled into dust, we sort of had to guesstimate the position it would have been on the dial.” Your teacher’s response will be that money is tight and that you should be grateful you even get to do labs. Also, you’ll lose points for being ungrateful and for “guesstimating” incorrectly.

If you’re a true teenager, you’ve probably already figured out that the correct way to answer this question is to blame your lab partner. “My lab partner dropped the uranium on the voltmeter and completely ruined the entire lab process. The few and slightly erroneous results were only recorded after I made a valiant, heroic, and ultimately unsuccessful attempt to save the lab while also administering light first-aid to my partner, who’d been injured in the blast.” That’s an A+ answer.

So, when it comes to answering those science lab questions, you should now be able to “infer” the correct answers. You know what they always say: “Fake your way to an A!” And if you can’t quite manage that, then at least be gracious when you take the blame for totally ruining the labs of all six chemistry classes.

The State Writing Test: Not Your Average Standardized Test

StateWritingTestsFunnyHidden behind the big-name tests like the PSAT, SAT, AT, just plain T, etc. is a lesser-known but more important test: the state writing test. It’s more important because in most states, if you don’t pass, you can’t graduate from high school, whereas with something like the ACT, you can get as low as a 35 out of 2400 and be sought after by colleges.

But let’s back up for one second. The state writing test is not nearly as stressful as the SAT. In fact, it almost seems like a standardized test done right. Almost.

The Premise

The idea of the state writing test is to test your writing ability. And unlike other standardized tests, that is actually true. Sure, no boss is going to ask you, “Can you read this passage and then tell me why the main character sighs on line 23?” but many jobs involve writing things like legal disclaimers, memos, and legal disclaimers for memos.

The Bubbles

The bubbles at the beginning are truly why this test is so wonderful: they’re already filled in by some sort of ominous black circle-stamping machine. Whereas with the SAT you must pay $87 and submit an address, phone number, email, photo, and blood sample, and then have to fill in your own name, the state writing test already knows you exist, all for the cost of $0. Unfortunately, however, if any of the information is incorrect, there is no way to fix it, so you can either be Hpil (female) with a high school diploma or Phil (male) without one.

The Rules

The rules of the test are not nearly as nice as the bubbles, unfortunately. To begin with, you must fit your entire work onto the one page (front and back) provided, and you can’t draw extra lines in between the lines, nor extra lines in between the extra lines in between the lines, even if you’re writing the next great American formulaic sequel-after-sequel book series with a possible movie deal.

Also, you can’t use excessive profanity or vulgarity, which means just about everything you’ve ever learned from your favorite movies about writing artful dialogue or creating gripping plots is useless.

Furthermore, you aren’t allowed to research or talk with others about your writing, closing off the valuable essay resources of Facebook and Yahoo Answers.

But worst of all, you aren’t allowed the internet, period, and spelling is more heavily weighted than in an SAT essay. How are you supposed to Google whether it’s “unneccessarrillyy” or “unecesarily?” Sure, you’re allowed to use something called a “dikshonary,” but I don’t think that would help. It’s just a big heavy book with the alphabet written on the side in little flaps, I guess in case you forget how to write, like, a capital “G.”

The Prompts

The state writing test has 4 prompts (at least in my state), which initially appears quite nice. Sure, it’s more than the number of prompts on the SAT or ACT, but once you get down to it, the prompts are really no better.

Usually, they fall into four distinct categories: expository, persuasive, self-narrative, and imaginative. For example, your prompts might be:

  • Imagine that you are eating a piece of fruit, and it starts talking to you. Write about the conversation you have and the valuable life advice you gain from your produce.
  • A group of basketball players is playing basketball. Persuade them that golf is a more athletic sport.
  • Many people visit the beach and play in the sand. Write about a time when you went snowboarding.
  • Explain how to make your favorite food. Include measurements, preparation tips, and whether you used outspoken or mute ingredients.

Other Things of Note

While all that may sound pretty straightforward, there are a few other things everyone should know.

To begin with, you have unlimited time during the state writing test. So, if you get really involved in your analysis of golf, you can spend weeks, or even months, perfecting your arguments. Sure, you’ll miss a lot of class and have a ton of makeup work, but at least the next time you go to a Heat game you can convince LeBron to finally pick up golf.

But, as we’ve seen in regards to prompts or bubbles, unlimited time isn’t the only advantage these writing tests have over other standardized tests. In addition, regular standardized tests like the SAT have been accused of being biased against minorities, the poor, or the illiterate. The state writing test, however, is much less biased: you can write your essay/story in either English or Spanish! Although in retrospect, I’m sure there are people who argue that this is simply evidence of anti-Slovakian bias.

Whether or not you like them, state writing tests are a graduation requirement, and are thus pretty much unavoidable. Sure, the prompts are stupid, and the rules are restricting, but let’s face it: at least it isn’t graded on neatness of handwriting. If it was, it would take most of us over a decade to finally pass. And 26-year-old high schoolers just don’t strike me as good thing.

Along with the state writing test, the new semester usually brings new classes, and with them, new syllabi. Which means you’ll probably want to check out, “The Only Guide to Class Syllabi that You’ll Ever Need,” published at this time last year.