I was pretty good at math, and somewhat competitive. So as soon as I had it done I jumped up... and banged my knee, really hard, on the underside of my desk.
The next thing I knew, it was morning, and I seemed to be coming out of a dream, since I could hear voices, and I was trying to wake up.
Then I could hear my teacher's voice: "John Enright. Get up off that floor this instant!"
There I was, out like a light, probably by vasovagal reaction, and I was getting yelled at for clowning around. I'm not sure anyone in the class ever believed me that I had really suffered from syncope. Such is the cost of being a class cut-up. No one believes it when you do a pratfall for real.
I was reminded of this by

Syncope's a fancy word.
In medicine, it's when you faint.
In poetry, it's when there ain't
A sound that's usually heard.
Either way, you briefly miss:
A syllable... or consciousness.
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