WHEN I ACCIDENTALLY SAID “AMEN” DURING ATTENDANCE
WHEN I ACCIDENTALLY SAID “AMEN” DURING ATTENDANCE
The professor, a man whose voice could cause small earthquakes, began the sacred ritual of calling attendance. That moment when your name is called and the world suddenly narrows down to your vocal cords is perilous. I have a talent—or curse—of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. And Monday had my full attention.
. “Emeka?” the professor boomed. Without thinking—or consulting my mental risk assessment chart—I said, “Amen!”
Silence descended like a market crash. Heads turned. Students choked on pens; some squinted as if trying to detect a new financial instrument. The professor blinked once, slowly, like someone weighing whether to report this as a compliance violation. “Amen?”
“Yes… Amen,” I repeated, nodding as though completing a sacred IPO rather than accidentally participating in attendance.
The room erupted—not with applause, but with chaotic laughter, combining sympathy, judgment, and sheer terror. One girl whispered, “Did he just bless himself during roll call?”
“Yes,” another replied. “And I think he thinks it counts as being present.”
The professor’s face morphed into a ledger of philosophical calculations: laugh, ignore, or call campus security? I tried to recover. “I—uh—I mean… I’m here! Spiritually and academically! My ROI on presence is high!”
My explanation landed like a soggy toast. My “Amen” had entered class history, destined for retellings with exponential exaggeration—like a viral fintech meme on social media.
By the end of the lecture, I had been branded—not by grades, but by a single word: Amen. Classmates whispered: “There goes the Amen Guy. Watch him bless the cafeteria line next.”
Walking to the cafeteria that day felt like navigating a high-risk investment portfolio. Every “Excuse me” sounded like judgment. Every sneeze felt like a pending stock option. Yet a tiny mischievous part of me wanted to raise a tray of spaghetti and shout, “Hallelujah!”—capitalizing on attention like a viral marketing strategy.
The following week turned attendance into a battlefield. Whenever my name was called, students leaned back, expecting another holy outburst. “Emeka?” they’d whisper. My internal monologue screamed: do I risk it or preserve my social equity?
Fate, the merciless trickster, intervened. One day, fueled by caffeine, curiosity, and perhaps curiosity about high-risk behavioral finance, the professor asked: “Emeka… do you want to give the blessing for attendance today?”
The class gasped. I was offered the choice: redeem myself or ruin my social capital forever. I stared into the void of their eyes, saw my own reflection in smartphones, and whispered, “No… I will not fall again.”
Then my neighbor, a mischievous genius named Tobi, leaned over. “Do it, man. You owe the universe.”
I couldn’t resist. “Amen,” I said once more. Chaos ensued. Pens flew like cryptocurrency charts, a book fell, and a pigeon on the windowsill flapped frantically—market volatility personified.
By mid-semester, my accidental “Amen” had mythic proportions. Students from other classes visited to witness it firsthand. Freshmen whispered legends: He who blesses during roll call… Beware the Amen of Emeka.
Professors started giving me extra attention, not for intellect, but for mysterious spiritual capital. A guest lecturer even asked me to “lead a prayer” before discussing quantum finance. I stared. He stared. Somewhere in the back, a physics student fainted—likely assessing risk-reward ratios under extreme confusion.
Important life lessons emerged.
1. Never speak before thinking—unless you want viral engagement and unexpected traffic to your social media page.
2. Accidental blessings outperform homework—ROI unknown but undeniably high.
3. Social media is merciless—by week three, videos of me saying “Amen” were online, with hashtags like #AmenAttendance and #BlessedToBePresent, driving impressions and ad revenue potential.
By semester’s end, I was feared, admired, and monetized. Professors treated me with caution; classmates sought advice on exams, relationships, and investment strategies. And me? I just nodded wisely and muttered, “Amen.”
Attendance had transformed into a financial metaphor. Every call of my name represented a high-stakes decision: bless or be silent? The classroom became a live demonstration of behavioral economics, social influence, and market psychology.
One day, I considered launching a seminar: The Economics of Accidental Amen: Monetizing Mistakes for Maximum ROI. Freshmen queued, their anticipation resembling line formation for IPO shares.
Even cafeteria trips became microeconomic events. Each tray exchange was a negotiation; each sneeze, a risk factor. I realized I had become a case study in human capital management, social leverage, and viral marketing all rolled into one.
The legend grew. Students discussed my Amen strategies like a stock portfolio. Should one bless immediately, hedge risk, or diversify holy exclamations? “Emeka’s Blessing Index” became a class-wide meme, appearing in PowerPoints and finance group chats.
Professors, intrigued by emergent phenomena, started integrating me into lectures. “Notice how social reinforcement can drive behavior,” one said, referencing my accidental Amen. I nodded sagely, as if consulting a wealth management strategy.
Even campus events shifted. Attendance blessings became performance metrics, integrating humor, spirituality, and engagement analytics. Freshmen risked spontaneous Amen calls for likes and social currency, proving the power of viral phenomena in an academic ecosystem.
By the end of the semester, the accidental Amen had catalyzed:
Social capital – my classmates now sought my advice on finance, exams, and life.
Media exposure – videos circulated online, with potential ad revenue streams.
Leadership insights – professors analyzed my behavior like market trends.
I now carried the burden—and the wealth—of the accidental Amen with pride. I also carried hand sanitizer, because divine intervention attracts germs… and ROI is irrelevant if one is sick.
The moral of the story? Sometimes the universe forces legendary status via tiny mistakes. One word can echo through eternity, social media impressions, and maybe even fintech case studies.
And if life offers accidental blessings, embrace them. Monetize wisely, laugh uncontrollably, and always consider your social ROI. Amen.
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