For a college course, I was asked to observe a teacher.  I searched until I found a slacker.  His name was Mr. Morrill.  The following semester, I became his student teacher.  Here's his story:

Morrill's dad, a Chicago judge, sent him to a small liberal arts college.  After graduation, Morrill loafed around the house for a week.  The judge gave him an ultimatum:  He had two weeks to find a job or go to law school.  Tired of school, and not wanting to be homeless, Morrill took a job with the one employer who didn't roll their eyes at his history degree - the U.S. Army.

All of Morrill's Army stories center around anti-efficiency slacking.  He would volunteer for "missions".  A mission usually consisted of driving a Jeep into town to buy a carton of smokes for a superior.  He would drive as fast as the Jeep would go - in first gear.  Piston rods would shoot out of the hood by the time he got to town.  Then he'd radio a repair team.  They'd dick around town together, and all return home sometime that evening.

After being discharged, Morrill went back to school and got a teaching degree.  After a few years, Morrill got bored with inner city teaching.  During my student teaching, I accompanied him to a job fair.  An upper crust school district had several openings.  To talk to a interviewer, we were asked to take a deli number.  Our numbers were in the 700's.  They were on interview number 200.  Morrill went on a mission.  He was going to steal a lower number.  Finding no success, we added our sad resumes to the resume tower (it was 2 feet tall), and hit the road.

Several years later, I was on a train riding from Seattle to Chicago.  I looked up, and saw Morrill and the judge.  We talked from Seattle to Denver.  During their trip, the judge must have persuaded Morrill to move on with his life.  Last I heard, Morrill was a lawyer.