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As children, my siblings and I were all labeled as "gifted" and as a result, were periodically taken out of our class to sit in empty classroom where we would look at the 3 other smart kids in the class.    Sometimes they would have us do more challenging math labs or creative writing exercises, but sometimes they just had us do crafts.  Wouldn't you know it my most vivid memory of my gifted program was making a wreath out of hot glue and pinecones?  I still have it actually.

In college, I was in a serious car accident in which I sustained a head injury.  For a while I had trouble remembering certain things; such as the fact that I just had a 30 minute conversation with a friend or my phone number.   As is standard protocol in these cases, one year later, I went to the hospital's neurology center for three days and was subjected to every neurological and intelligence test ever created.  A few weeks later I returned for the results.  Standing nervously in the doctor's office, I asked, "So...did the accident leave permanent damage?"  He didn't look up but said "Maybe, but in any event, you should send these results in to Mensa."

"What's Mensa?" I asked, envisioning some organization for people with irreversible brain damage (and probably the first clue this must be a mistake).  The doctor continued "I cant say if you were smarter before but your scores are currently falling in the top .05% of people tested and Mensa is the association for people with high IQs."

Naturally I ran right home and joined up.  And eventually I remembered my phone number.  In the years since, I've found that being a member of Mensa is a novelty to most people- sort of like meeting someone with webbed fingers.  At first people watch you closely waiting for you to perform intellectual miracles, then they eventually get bored.  Then later, some, when they disagree with you, ask to actually see your membership card.  I can't complain though, I've never had a potential employer fail to comment on it, and I'm fairly sure it saved me from having to pay for years of grad school.  In addition, the many times I want to smack myself in the head and yell "I'm such an idiot!", I can at least comfort myself with the thought of "Maybe, but not technically."