Funny Things To Write On Whiteboard Novels & Stories

The sound was coming from the empty tribal flower pot on the wall, and sure enough, Doc's phone was right there. I suppose I was too confused to be alarmed. As I looked around, a tad disoriented, I noticed something unusual, and stepped closer to the whiteboard to get a better look. Usually, Doc's whiteboard was filled with scribbles and equations that he said he did only to make himself feel like a mad genius (which he was). However, this time, all the scribbles were replaced with neatly lined and paragraphed text. I immediately recognized the text as mirror image - Doc frequently used it and had taught me how to write in it.

“He brought her coffee, a tissue, and a Post-it that said, 'Corporate tears are billable hours." “He’s French,” Clara laughed, wiping her eyes. “They flirt even with grief.” Amara nearly spilled her drink. “I’d pay to see anyone critique Silmon’s PowerPoint slides.” “Oh, he already does,” Manon whispered. “He was once called ‘a tragic love story between Helvetica and bad lighting.’ Silmon just ordered more fonts in revenge.” That did it—everyone lost it. Rafael was wheezing. Clara was half under the table. No corporate therapy session, no icebreakers. Just pure, chaotic office humor—the kind born from too much caffeine and not enough HR supervision.

Then he jabbed the marker on the white board we were using over and over. The boys all started yelling: dot!! …. Ermm point! .. board!! He’s point at the board guys…. Dot triangle?? Bored triangle!.. no that doesn’t make sense…. Is that a triangle? Rhombus?? Quadrilateral!!! We busted out laughing. Oliver sighed and looked up to the ceiling in frustration. The buzzer dinged that time was up. “Guys!!! White!! The board is white. This is a house! White. House!!” He yelled.

One executive had already stood up. Another interrupted him halfway through his sentence. Someone else slammed a folder shut. Another person started speaking before the sound had even finished echoing. Interesting. Very interesting. I placed my notebook on the conference table. No reaction. I placed my coffee beside it. Still nothing. Without saying a word, I walked toward the whiteboard fixed against the far wall. Picked up a marker. Removed the cap. The faint squeak of ink against the board somehow cut through the room better than shouting ever could.

“I have numbered cards correlating to topics on the whiteboard, so one person from each group raise a hand, and I will pass them out at random.” Without prompting, I raise mine, and seeing we are at the front, I get handed a gold one right away before he walks past us and continues dishing out glittered notelets. Our teacher has always been weird and lame in this way. Adding sparkle to mundane projects. I flip it over, open it and slide out a piece of white paper with the number 6.

I saw him pulling out his phone from his pocket and started to call some number. “So, what did you learned about that parallel universe?” Aina asked me and I stood up, I saw markers on the side table and even whiteboard near the window of the house. I dragged the whiteboard as it has wheels, I put it in front of us and I started writing on it. Austin already done ordering our food and currently sitting beside Aina to listen to what I will going to say. I write things that I had known and just experience, also some assumptions and questions I had when I learned those things. I continued writing until I filled the whole board, I looked at them and Austin seemed too interested and I think Aina

This question was based on content taught at universities, making it more difficult than usual. It should be impossible for the duo to answer it correctly. Meanwhile, they seemed calm as they stood up and walked toward the podium. After that, they picked up their pens and began writing down their answers on both ends of the whiteboard. Everyone started muttering then— “She’s trying to make life difficult for them. They can’t possibly answer it correctly.” “This isn’t even high school content. No matter how smart Lynette and Leon are, they can’t answer it. Right?” “But they both seem very calm.”

he mumbles, chewing slowly. I crouch beside him. “Weird how? Bad weird or good weird?” “Both.” He thinks for a second, then grins. “Like when you eat ice cream too fast, and it's cold and sweet but also hurts your teeth.” We laugh at his descriptions. By the time we reach a stand selling guavas, Andre's notebook is a chaotic mix of scribbles and smiley faces. He's practically vibrating with excitement, firing off questions faster than Carlton and I can answer.

Not to the investigation or the campus or the word on the whiteboard. Mine.

He turns around and walks back to the whiteboard and writes something really quick before turning back to wink at me before he left the room. I look at the whiteboard and it has a smiley face along with the words: You got this! I chuckle softly to myself as I get ready to feed Marigold. Maybe this whole werewolf thing won’t be half bad.