April Simmons, 34 years old, entered the attic of her late father to clean up his house in preparation for its sale.

Her husband Darren, 38 years old, assisted her, dusting off a large trunk and opening it as it creaked.

"Hey, April,” Darren coughed from the cloud of dust, “check this out."

"Oh wow! Nice find! I wonder if they're worth anything."

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"You mean like antiques?"

She nodded.

Darren lifted one of the mathematics textbooks and flipped through its pages. "One of his instruction books?"

"Looks like it, before he and all the other teachers were forced to retire early."

"Oh, right." Darren shrugged. "A dead profession … Check this out. Can you solve any of these?"

“Heck no!” April shook her head. "No one does math or anything like that anymore. We’ve got the Central Unit and our neural implants for that sort of boring stuff. We're supposed to enjoy life."

"Right, right." Darren smiled. "It sure must've been a real struggle back then."

He slammed the trunk closed.