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My physics professor was absolutely psychotic. Dr. Reeves had a PhD from MIT and seemed to hate every student who walked into his quantum mechanics class. His exams were legendary nightmares. The highest score in five years was 34%. Students literally transferred schools to avoid him.

Our final exam was worth 60% of our grade. The last question was worth 50 points: "Using Schrödinger's equation, calculate the exact probability wave function for an electron in this 47-dimensional quantum system, then derive the energy eigenvalues for all possible states."

The equation filled two entire pages. Variables I'd never seen before. Mathematical notation that looked like alien hieroglyphics. People were hyperventilating. One guy just walked out crying. Another girl was rocking back and forth, muttering formulas under her breath.

I sat there for an hour, completely paralyzed. This was impossible. Even graduate students couldn't solve this. My entire physics career was about to end. I could hear people around me frantically scribbling, erasing, having mental breakdowns. The girl next to me was literally pulling her hair out.

The room felt like a war zone. Calculators were overheating. People were using every inch of their blue books, writing equations on the margins, on their arms, anywhere they could find space. The desperation was suffocating.

Then something clicked. I remembered Dr. Reeves' very first lecture: "Physics isn't about memorizing formulas. It's about understanding what's actually possible in our universe."

I stared at the problem again. Really studied it. Line by line. Variable by variable.

The quantum system they described? It violated the Pauli exclusion principle. The dimensions were mathematically inconsistent. The boundary conditions contradicted each other. This wasn't just hard - it was physically impossible.

But here's the insane part: buried in the middle of all that chaos was one tiny line that said "assuming standard laboratory conditions."

Standard lab conditions meant room temperature, normal pressure, Earth's gravity. But the problem described a system that could only exist in the vacuum of space at absolute zero temperature while simultaneously requiring conditions found inside a black hole.

The temperature requirements alone were contradictory - they needed both absolute zero AND millions of degrees simultaneously. The pressure conditions defied thermodynamics. The gravitational fields would tear apart any measuring equipment.

I wrote: "This quantum system cannot exist under standard laboratory conditions as it requires mutually exclusive physical environments. The problem violates fundamental laws of physics including the Pauli exclusion principle and thermodynamic constraints. Under actual standard laboratory conditions, this system would collapse instantly."

I turned in my exam after 90 minutes. The entire class was still frantically calculating. Someone actually laughed at me for leaving early. "He's not even trying," I heard someone whisper.

Four days later, Dr. Reeves walked in with the most terrifying smile I'd ever seen.

"Forty-seven of you spent four hours trying to solve a problem that violates the laws of physics," he announced coldly. "One student recognized that sometimes the most advanced physics is knowing when physics breaks down."

He slammed my paper on the desk. "In real research, you'll waste years chasing impossible theories if you can't spot fundamental contradictions."

I got 100%. The class average was 8%. Eight percent.